Aiden
by purdys pal
Summary: An Alternative Burn Notice universe for the second half of S6 and all of S7... Everything changes from the end of S6 Ep10... Aiden Malloy was a name from Fiona's past, and he was the whole team's only hope of getting out of Panama alive and maybe if they all survive the experience his name would live on through another life time. A fast paced story filled with action, adventure an
1. Hell in a Hand Basket

_**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Burn Notice, this is written just for fun.**_

**_He was a reminder of her past, the whole team's only hope of getting out of Panama alive and maybe if they all survive the experience his name would live on through another life time._**

**_An AU follow on from S6 Ep10._**

**AIDEN.**

**A/N: This story continues directly after Series 6 Episode 10. I hope you all enjoy. Thank you Jedi Skysinger for the Beta, and also thanks to Amanda Hawthorn, Daisyday and Jedi Skysinger for reading thru parts of this story.**

**Prologue **

He had finally managed to get the mother of the present pain in his ass out of his office and into the hallway leading to the elevators. Smiling down at her, with his best "you can trust me" smile pasted on to his face, Tom Card edged Madeline Westen out of his domain.

_This was proof Westen was beyond seeing sense. What sort of covert agent keeps his Mother informed on his missions and gives out classified phone numbers?_

"For what it's worth, I hope this helped." He was rather pleased with the level of compassion he was managing to put into his tone.

"Nothing helps," she sighed, her bright blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. "But, -er, maybe you opened up my eyes a bit."

"I know some of that wasn't easy to hear, but that's one thing you'll always get from me, Mrs. Westen, is the truth." He paused, but when she didn't move he continued to try to reassure her, to get her to leave.

"I was never easy on Michael; I wasn't. But I did what I thought I needed to do because I cared about him. I _do_ care about him. You see, I never had a whole lot of family. In fact, Michael is the closest thing I ever had to a son." _Why didn't she just go?_ "I know this agency has cost you a lot. So for what it is worth, I am deeply, deeply sorry." _Doesn't she realize I have more important things to do than hold the hand of a conniving, blackmailing old lady?_

"Thank you. I'm glad Michael has you."

And _finally _she was gone. Sighing with a mixture of relief and frustration, he pulled out his phone from inside his jacket and stared at it: _Had he allowed enough time to pass? To hell with it, he wanted to know now! _Without a further thought, he dialed the mission's communication office.

"Please tell me it's done." He closed his eyes, waiting to hear the news that the man he had indeed thought of as a son was dead.

"We have only one confirmed kill, sir, Agent Brady Pressman. I repeat, only one confirmed kill." Card felt an icy chill wash over him; Michael would know of his betrayal.

He swayed gripping the handset tightly. "Find them, find them NOW! Use Gray's Merc group if you have to, but I want this over by tonight." Ending the call, he took three attempts to get the phone back into his pocket. Everything, everything he had done throughout his career was hanging by a thread.

()()

Jeff Reid, the agent in charge of Card's clean up squad, placed his radio back into the holder on his belt, all the while his eyes were skimming over the scattered remains of the minivan that had been decimated by a hit from a Maverick missile. It had taken ten minutes from his teams arrival at the scene to confirm there was not enough body parts for five adults. On the discovery of a single hand with the fingers still gripping part of the steering wheel, they quickly came to the conclusion there had only been one person in the vehicle. The task of cleaning up Tom Card's mess had suddenly become a whole lot more complicated.

By the time the Panamanian police came into sight, Reid and his squad had cleared out with all the incriminating evidence bagged up ready to be shipped back to DC.

Standing under the cover of a nearby stand of trees, Reid watched as what he considered to be rank amateurs trampled over the crime scene. If they had missed any of Pressman's remains, the local law with their undisciplined approach was making sure any last traces would never be discovered. Turning away in disgust, he got straight to business.

"You, you and you." He pointed to his three team leaders. "With me." He took a few steps away from where the bulk of the twenty man squad stood waiting for their orders.

"The targets left here on foot. They can't have got far and they will be looking for the quickest route out of the country." He pulled out a map of the city. "Team One, head out of town, spread out and check the ports. Glenanne has connections with gun runners all the way back to the eastern seaboard, so get on to the Coast Guard. Tell them just enough to get their cooperation. Team Two, the airports, both commercial and passenger, start at the ones closest and work your way out. Team Three, Westen's last communication reported Grey had got away, find him. I'm going to run liaison with the Panamanians and make sure they stay out of our way. This is a full clean up, people, and it has to be completed in the next -" He checked his watch. " Twelve hours, get to it."

()()

**Chapter One: Hell in a hand basket.  
**

They had all stood and watched helplessly as the unmarked F-18 fighter plane flew in low behind the minivan being driven by Brady Pressman, they'd listened to the whoosh of the Maverick missile launch over the roar of the jet engines and, with their mouths wide open in shock, they witnessed the total destruction of the minivan and the man who had so quickly become a trusted team mate.

Brady Pressman, the man who had been in charge of the team set to capture Anson Fullerton, the man who had sacrificed his own life so they could escape to take revenge on the man responsible for sending them all to their deaths.

"So what do we do now?" Sam was the first to pull himself together and realize they only had minutes until they were discovered.

Michael was frozen to the spot, unable to look away from the scattered wreckage strewn across the road. _Tom Card had betrayed them_.

"Mikey, we can't stay here." Sam moved to his best friend's side, catching hold of his arm.

_Tom Card had betrayed them, had betrayed him_.

"Damn it!" Sam looked about, frantically trying to decide what to do. Michael made these decisions, but right now Michael was shut down. Jesse and Fiona were standing guard over the hired killer, Tyler Grey. Both looked shook up, but were at least alert and were looking back at him for orders.

"Jesse, get that sonuvabitch up. We're getting out of here," Sam called out, accepting that at least for now he was in charge.

Letting out an angry growl of frustration, Michael sprang to life, suddenly spinning around and launching himself towards the man kneeling on the ground. Before anybody had a chance of stopping him, Michael delivered punch after punch until their prisoner fell back down into the dirt.

With his vision tinged with red and his head filled with nothing other than blind fury, Michael leaned down, intending to drag Grey back to his feet to continue the assault. Just before he could land the next blow, Michael found himself spinning away from his target.

"Enough! We are stuck in Panama and we don't have time for this," Sam barked, getting into Michael's face and using his bulk and force of personality to hold the younger man back. "How long do you think we have until the police and army turn up to investigate? How long before Card's own clean-up crew get here to destroy the evidence?"

Michael breathing heavily, gulping in mouthfuls of air as he brought himself under control, stepped back. Slowly the fury faded from his eyes and he dropped his head down. "You're right... We should go."

"I'm glad we all agree." Sam took a hesitant step back, still uncertain that Michael wasn't waiting for the opportunity to renew his attack on their prisoner. "Okay, Jesse, look after our friend. Fiona, take point – Mike, go with her."

For a minute it looked like Michael might argue, but it seemed he hadn't completely lost his ability to think. With a sharp nod, he took off with Fiona leading the way back into the city. As they ran through the narrow back streets, ducking out of sight whenever an army or police patrol came through, Fiona kept an eye on Michael, pleased to see he was concentrating on the job in hand.

As they waited for the others to catch up, they stood flattened against opposite walls of a narrow alleyway. Close up, she could see the tension he was wearing like a cloak.

"Do ya remember this, Michael, running from the patrols, hiding in alleys? If it wasn't so damn hot, this could be Ireland."

He didn't even offer her a smile, his icy expression cutting through her to the bone. She could see he was closing himself off completely, building up a wall around his emotions to protect himself from any more pain. It was the soldier and the spy in him taking over. She had seen the look before when he was preparing himself to do something terrible.

Eventually, they ended up taking refuge in an abandoned derelict house with crumbling walls and part of the roof missing. After pulling several rotten boards off a ground floor window, they climbed inside and settled down for a well earned rest. They all needed time to draw on their reserves and take stock of the situation.

Michael sank down with his back against one of the crumbling walls. With his knees drawn up and his hands over his head, he tried to come to terms with all that had happened. He had led them all into this; it was all his fault. He had blindly trusted the wrong man and now they were all going to die.

He tried to push back the pain, but nothing worked. This was all on him. His mother was right. He had gotten Nate killed and now he was about to do the same to Fiona, Sam and Jesse. The guilt was crushing him down.

He had trusted Card, trusted him completely. He hadn't questioned how quickly his old training officer had found the information he so desperately needed. He had just run with it, dragging everybody he cared about with him.

Looking back, he could see now that he had done exactly what Card wanted him to do; everybody involved in Anson Fullerton's capture and the death of Nate Westen gathered in one place. Everybody who would ask questions all gone in one go and if it hadn't been for Tyler Grey's sense of self preservation the plan would have worked.

How could he have been so stupid, so naïve? What was wrong with him? His father, Larry, Tom, hell, even his own mother had all let him down in the end.

"Mike? Michael, hey Mikey, you okay, brother?"

Hearing the concern in Sam's voice, he stiffened and pulled himself together. He would get them out of this, these last few people left in his life. He could do it. He just had to push everything down and think solely about the job, focus on getting them all back home and then, once he had them all safe, he would leave.

He would go off on his own and make Tom Card pay for his betrayal. He would not allow another friend to get hurt or killed because of his actions. After scrubbing at his face in an effort to disguise the signs of his emotional breakdown, Michael looked up.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Sam." He got to his feet. "We need to get out of this city and get back to the States. It will be hard for them to hit us with another missile if we're on home soil. Back in Miami, we'll have the advantage. They'll have to come at us on the ground and we'll be able to spot them coming."

"That's a great plan, Westen, if you can pull it off," the prisoner scoffed.

Michael turned towards Grey, cold emotionless blue eyes fixing on the captive. "We need a way out and you're going to help."

"You expect me to help you?" Grey laughed. "Maybe – if you cut me loose."

Michael moved so swiftly it took them all unawares. Grey's head was rocked back as blow after blow landed with sickening speed. It took both Jesse and Sam to pull Michael away from their prisoner. Sam threw Michael back against the far wall and held him there with a hand on his chest while Jesse checked on Grey.

As Sam stared at Michael, he knew it was only the pain from the busted ribs which stopped the younger man from flattening him. Michael Westen was gone; this man he had pinned against the wall was far more dangerous. His blue eyes, which usually held the only clue to his real emotions, were flat and cold, his mouth a thin, down-turned line.

Holding his friend in place, Sam waited to for the younger man to show some sign of returning sanity. It was as if he had stepped back in time. Only then, Michael had had a gun in his hand and Sam hadn't been positive he was going to walk away from the encounter.

"Michael, we are stuck in Central America without money, no weapons and no plan to get out. We need you," Fiona said, coming up alongside Sam, her hand gently rubbing up and down Michael's arm looking for a response.

"We need you thinking clearly. Come with me. We'll go out around the local bars. There are smugglers and thieves in every city. They'll know people who can aid us. We just have to find the right one to ask."

They waited in silence, the atmosphere thick with the anger radiating from Michael taunt body, only being kept in check by Fiona's presence and the force of Sam's hand.

Eventually, he nodded and Sam slowly stepped away. Taking a moment to regain his composure, Michael left without speaking a word, following Fiona back through the window and out on to the street.

As they walked side by side, neither looking or speaking to each other, Fiona wondered what had happened to the man who, only a few hours earlier, had promised he would do whatever it took to make her happy. Maybe once they were back home, he would return to her and the shell of a man who stalked along at her side would disappear for good.

"We should try out the bars near the airfields first." Fiona looked up at the sky as a light aircraft flew in low over the tops of the buildings.

"That's the first place they'll look for us, Fi," Michael dismissed her idea, as he scanned the people passing by.

"Well where do you want to look?" Fiona replied, frustration creeping into her tone. She knew he was hurting, but if they were to get out of this predicament, it needed every member of the team working at their best.

"Fine," he huffed. "We'll check out the airfields."

Fiona led the way into one bar after another. In each establishment, she scanned the customers. She had no idea who she was looking for exactly; the chances of there being a Miami or New York gun runner or arms dealer in Panama were slim. But she knew the type she was looking for. After all she had said it many times, they were _her_ people.

It was as they were leaving the sixth bar they had visited, a seedy ramshackle place, that Michael decided he had had enough. There was another easier way to get help escaping the city.

"This is a waste of time, Fi. Grey has all the contacts we need. I just have to get him to give them up," he hissed into her ear.

"Grey will lead us into a trap, just like Card did," She calmly informed him while pushing through the crowd towards the exit. It was just then that a hand reached up and lightly touched her elbow. She would have ignored the touch, but for the words that followed.

"Maeve? Maeve O'Keefe? Is tha you, darlin?"

Fiona turned around in shock at hearing her Mother's maiden name being spoken so far away from home. She stared at the speaker, a vague feeling of recognition sparking in her mind. She just couldn't quite place him. He was an old man who looked to be well into his seventies, grey haired and disheveled, sitting at a table for four but he was all alone. There was something in his eyes...

"Mr. Malloy?" The name came to her in a rush of ancient memories. " Mr. Malloy, it's Fiona – Fiona Glenanne, Maeve's daughter." She smiled at him, if this really was Aiden Malloy, they may have found a way out or at the very least a safe place to stay.

The old man beamed up at her, a big toothless grin on his face. He pulled out the chair next to him and dragged her down. "Fiona? Is tha little Fiona Glenanne? My, yer tha spit o' ya mammy, girl." He turned to eye Michael suspiciously. "Yer a long ways fram home. Does yer Daddy know yer out?"

She sighed softly, accepting the seat, holding one of his gnarled hands in hers. "Me Daddy died, Mr Malloy – back in '79. D'ya remember?" She brought her Irish accent back to life.

His eyes brightened and then he frowned. "Oh. aye, an' ya big brudder, Pat Jr, a few yars later. I heard all about tha, too. It war a bad business, girl, a very bad business. An' poor wee Claire. Am so sorry fer ya losses, luv. So, wha are ya doin' in this place so far fram home?"

"Me an' me friends are kinda stuck har. We're looking for a ride to the US. D'ya know anybody who would be able ta help us out?" she asked.

He lifted his gaze back to Michael. "Are ya sure ya can trust this one, lass? He looks fit ta commit a murder, so he does."

"You can trust Michael, Mr Malloy. He's just a bit outta sorts t'day, aren't ya Michael?"

Before Michael could think of a suitable reply, the old man had struggled to his feet and, after a couple of limping steps, straightened up as the stiffness left his limbs. "Come wid me, me son has a little side business. He can see ya right."

Fiona got to her feet but before she could follow, Michael grabbed her wrist shaking his head. But she just smiled at him and said, "Come on, Michael. I've found us a ride back home. It's rude to keep our friend waiting."

"He's an old man," Michael hissed, tightening his grip.

"He's an old family friend. – He once attempted to bomb the Houses of Parliament." Grinning. she jerked her wrist free and strode off in the direction taken by the old man.

Cursing under his breath, Michael stalked after them.

Aiden Malloy tottered along the narrow dusty streets until they reached a wide open space surrounded by a chain link fence. Inside a long tarmac covered road was lined by several large steel hangars and a scattering of aircrafts of all different types and sizes.

Following the fence until they came to an unmanned gate, Aiden Malloy led them over to one of the hangars where a mid-size cargo plane stood out in the open with the ramp at the rear extended as if for loading.

"Kenny! Hey, Kenny boy, come out har an' meet an old friend. D'ya remember tha Glenanne's?" Aiden shouted as they reached the side of the plane.

Kenneth Malloy was a man in his late fifties, heavy set and dressed in grease covered overalls. He came out from the cargo plane, wiping his hands on a piece of cloth.

"Da, wot are ya doin' here at this time o' day? Am working now, tha lowering gear on tha ramp keeps jammin'... Glenanne, d'ya say? I haven't heard tha name in wha' near on twenty years."

He stopped in front of them, looking Fiona up and down. "Oh my, tha's no mistakin' it, ya look jus' like ya Mammy. I went ta school wid her. She war a few years ahead o' me, but I'd know who ya were anywhere. Yer more O'Keefe than Glenanne." He turned to Michael, giving him the same attention. "You, I don't know."

"McBride. Michael McBride," Michael answered using his old Irish alias.

"I tink I heard o' ya... So war is it I can do fer ya?"

"A ride to the U.S somewhere near Miami would be nice," Fiona replied brightly, trying to make up for Michael's bad tempered scowling.

Kenny Malloy whistled through his teeth and ran his hands through his hair. "No passports or visas I tek it? An' I bet tha law is affer ya both, am I right?""

"She's Patty Glenanne's lass, Kenny. Pat who helped us get outta Ireland," Aiden growled at his son.

"Okay, Da, fer how many? Is it jus' tha pair o you? I got a shipment goin' ter Miami in a coupla days if I can get tha ramp fixed. Maybe if it's jus' tha pair – "

"Five of us," Michael spoke up. "And if you need help, we're all pretty handy with a wrench."

Kenneth gave a resigned sigh. "Five, Okay, I'll take you in with tha shipment. Yer'll have ter lay low til I'm ready te go."

"Can't you leave earlier? We'll pay." Michael had no idea where he would get the money from, but he would worry about that later.

"I can't. This load is legit, or most o it tis. Am scheduled ter fly out in two days. Ter go befer that, I'll rouse suspicions."

Michael sighed and turned away. In two days, Card would know for sure they weren't dead, that is if he didn't know already. They needed out now. There was probably a retrieval team scouring the city for them as they stood idly talking.

"Thank you, Kenneth, Mr Malloy. Thank you, we're very grateful. Fi'll give you a number when you want us to come back," he answered stiffly.

"No need fer that, son. Ya kin stay at my place," Aiden announced happily.

"No," Michael replied bluntly. There was no way on earth he wanted to spend time with anybody he might end up getting killed. _You do not become friends with an asset. You do not take favors from assets. You use them and move on_.

Unfortunately, Fiona saw the hurt look on the old man's face and smiled at Aiden, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "What Michael meant to say is there are another three in our group. We wouldn't like to intrude."

"Nonsense, girl! Did yer Da ever tell ya abou' tha time he stole a British tank?" He slipped his arm around her waist and was leading the way off the airfield before another word could be said. "Or how about tha way yer Mammy pursued him. I tell ya she war like tha huntsman affer tha fox an' him studying ta be a priest at tha time."

"No, he never told me tha story. We'd love ta hear it, wouldn't we, Michael?" Fiona shot him a look from over her shoulder.

Sighing, Michael followed behind, glowering at the couple in front of him who were chatting happily about old times in Ireland.

Malloy only walked as far as a small parking lot where he climbed into the driver's seat of an ancient Ford pick-up. "Climb on in, me place is jus' on tha otherside o' the airfield."

It turned out Malloy's house was a rundown villa on a private road, nearly a mile away from the airfield and the slums of San Miguelito.

The villa was a squat single storey structure surrounded by overgrown shrubs and parts of old aircrafts and cars. Coming to a stop, Aiden hit the pick up's horn, blaring out "Dixie" and then, as he stepped out, the front door opened and a young woman came running out with a big smile on her face.

"Grandaddy, what are ya doin' home so early?"

"This is Sorcha, Kenny's youngest." He gave the young woman a peck on her cheek. "She got her good looks off her mammy, god rest her soul."

While Fiona continued to smile and enjoy this break from all the stress, Michael bit down hard on his lips and tried to go with the flow. They were getting what they needed, just not as fast as he wanted.

Ten minutes later, as Aiden went into the details of another tale about people Michael didn't know or care about, he'd had all he could take. He didn't want to know the old man's life story, nor did he want Fiona to form an attachment to these people from her past. He had one thought spinning around and around in his head.

_Get back to Miami, find Tom Card and Kill Him._

"Aiden, could I borrow yar truck an' go pick up tha rest o' me team?" Michael asked in the most pleasant tone he could manage, hoping the Irish brogue would encourage the man to continue being helpful.

"Sure, son," Aiden waved a hand towards the door. "Tha key is inside."

Fiona went to speak, but Aiden was already trying to drag her into another story.

By the time she turned back, Michael had gone.


	2. Hide and Go Seek

**AIDEN.**

**A/N: _Thank you everybody who reviewed this story or put it on alert or on your favorites list. For those of you that are concerned, Dodging Raindrops is still being updated I have no intention of abandoning that story. A new chapter should be ready very soon. _**

**_I would like to thank Jedi Skysinger as always for the BETA but also for helping with Jesse, those of you who have read my other stories know Jesse rarely makes an appearance. So A Big Thank You Jedi Skysinger for all the added Jesse-isms._  
**

**Chapter Two: Hide and Go Seek **

"How long has Westen been gone for now?" Tyler Grey threw out the question casually. "It's gotta have been at least a couple of hours."

He paused to see what effect his words were having on the two men guarding him. Hiding his disappointment when he got no response, he continued to try to goad them. "Because I'm wondering how long you're gonna hang around here like a couple of chumps. Westen and his girlfriend must have been picked up. They're probably already in black bags heading back to Langley."

Sam Axe idly brushed a fly away from his face without taking his attention away from peering through a narrow gap in a boarded over window. As he studied the older man, Grey noted he was standing at an angle which allowed him to not only keep watch outside but also to keep an eye on the interior too.

"Or maybe Card just had their bodies dumped into the river," the assassin added with a smirk.

He remembered clearly all the information Tom Card had given him for this latest assignment. Axe was ex-military. At one time, the man had been a decorated SEAL. So the chances of getting a rise out of him were probably next to impossible. But it had been quite a few years since Commander Sam Axe had seen active service and Westen was supposed to be his best friend, so it had to be worth a try.

Tilting his head, Grey looked across to the other side of the room, turning his attention to the one-time counter intelligence agent, Jesse Porter. Axe might be capable of ignoring his taunts, but the experienced wet work specialist could tell by the tightening of the younger man's jaw that he was beginning to get to Porter.

Smiling, he turned the screw one more time.

"Or do you really believe Card is gonna think you're all dead? I tell ya, he has teams that can read a kill like you wouldn't b-"

"Hey! Just shut it. Can we gag him, please?" Jesse scowled at their captive.

Tyler Grey grinned, exposing his bloodstained teeth from his last run in with the missing Michael Westen. His plan was working. Sam Axe might not fall for his ploy, but the younger guy was definitely on edge.

"It would be in your best interest to let me go. I'm gonna to slow you down, get under foot. You know, I'll just be such a pain in the ass to drag around. What are-"

His words were cut off by Sam Axe and the piece of old dirty dust covered rag that the older man thrust into his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

"I warned ya, fella," the ex-SEAL growled as he made sure their captive wasn't going to be able to spit the cloth out.

Satisfied that Grey wasn't going to be speaking out of turn any more, Sam glanced over to where Jesse remained at his post. "Happy now?"

"Thank you," the younger man sighed without looking around. Then after another deep breath, he added. "Though as much as I hate to agree with Mr. Sunshine over there, he's gotta point. Mike and Fi have been gone for hours and we are sitting ducks here. If Card's black bag squad or _his _happy henchmen don't catch up with us first, we still have la policia, and -"

"We've nowhere else to go. Mike and Fi will be back," Sam replied firmly, cutting off his friend's speech. "We'll wait it out." He had faith in his friends and, even with Michael barely functioning, he trusted that the pair knew what they were doing.

Nevertheless, half an hour later, Sam had to admit to some concerns. Jesse was right; sooner or later either Tyler Grey's own team of mercenaries would come looking for their boss or Card's recovery team would work out that there had only been one man in the minivan when it was destroyed.

Then there were all the other groups who may be after them. The San Miguelito authorities had to be upset with having chunks of their city blown to pieces and there was always the chance that one of the gunrunners Fiona and Michael were trying to find could turn out to be an ally of Grayson Miller's, the arms dealer they had set up for Card to get busted. Wiping a hand over his forehead, he tried to block out the thoughts of all the bad guys who could be chasing them down.

_No, Michael would get them through this and he would be back in the loving arms of his 'big momma' Elsa before she had a chance to miss him._

Leaning against what remained of the window frame, Sam risked a glance around the room they were hiding in. Tyler Grey, the man who had assassinated Anson Fullerton and in the process accidentally killed Nate Westen was still immobilized, sitting on the floor, gagged and bound and, thanks to Michael's temper, battered and bruised.

Nearby Jesse still wearing his home-made Panamanian peep-toe boots was keeping watch on the busy street outside.

_Yes, it was all good. Mike and Fi would be back soon._

Just as Sam was about to turn back to his own job of keeping watch over the large weed tangled rear of the property, he paused as Jesse suddenly stiffened.

"Sam, I think we have a problem."

Standing side by side, they peered out through the wooden panels. The normally busy street was emptying. The few locals still in sight were rushing past with their heads down.

Sam felt a cold chill run up his spine as he wondered which one of the present threats to their lives was driving the local population off the streets.

"I'm going top side to get the birds' eye on what's happening." Jesse went to move, but Sam stilled him with a hand on his arm.

"No, there's no time. If we're ever gonna get back to Miami, we have to leave now."

He pulled out his hand gun and checked the clip before looking up. "I've got six rounds left, how about you?"

Jesse did a quick check, his expression grim. "I've got three, and -" he picked up the bag containing Tyler Grey's rifle and ammunition. "We have ten rounds left for our friend over there's Barrett sniper rifle."

"O-kay then, we'll just have to be sneaky and do our best to avoid a gun fight." Sam tried to put a positive spin on the situation. "Or – maybe if we can get some weapons off whoever is coming after us."

"Great." Jesse sighed, looking down at his once white socks peeking out of the end of his 'borrowed' boots. "Maybe I'll get lucky and find an hombre who wants to trade up from his boring old fitted boots for my fashion forward footwear."

Sam laughed and slapped him on the back. "There you go looking on the bright side."

With the tension broken, both men began to move in unison.

Earlier on, just after Michael and Fiona left, they had worked out an emergency exit strategy. So while Jesse cut the bindings around Grey's ankles and dragged him up on to his feet, Sam went to the back door and carefully pried the rotten wooden panels away from the gap in the wall.

Once they had a way out, Sam cautiously peered outside, squinting as the bright South American sun beat down on them. It was silent- too silent. Even the usual buzzing of the thousands of insects which seemed to be everywhere was gone. To somebody as experienced as Sam it smelt like a trap.

"Hold on," he spoke over his shoulder, as his eyes continued to scan the large yard overgrown with weeds and filled with a variety of trash. "I don't like it. It feels wrong."

"So, we dig in here," Jesse surmised, keeping a tight hold on Grey. "Or we can throw super merc here out the door and see who blows his head off." He gave a reluctant Grey a slight shove towards the opening.

Sam pursed his lips. It was a tempting idea, but unfortunately they needed the man if they were to stand a chance of bringing Card down. Edging forward, Sam poked his head out just a fraction to get a better look. Stepping outside was a big risk. Every bone in Sam's body told him they would be walking into an ambush. But to stay inside was just as bad. All it would take was one 50 calibre rifle and the walls of the tumbled down house would fall in on top of them.

Sucking in his cheeks, Sam wiped away the sweat on his forehead. There was no good choice here.

"Cover me," he ordered. If he was going to die in Panama, it wouldn't be hiding in a derelict building waiting to be put out of his misery.

Stepping out into the open, he ducked down low and took off running as fast as he could in a zigzag course across the yard, making it to the high boundary wall without a shot being fired. After taking a couple of deep breaths, he gestured for Jesse to join him. Cocking his gun which held less than half a clip of ammunition, he scanned the area for hidden enemies as Jesse sprinted across to join him, dragging Tyler Grey with him.

With their backs against the high stone wall which marked the boundary of the back of the property, they paused for a moment to catch their breaths and prepare for the next part of the plan to get over the wall and hopefully away from whoever was closing in on their position.

The rough rumbling sound of an old truck pulling up on the other side of the wall caused all three men to freeze. The creak of a door opening and then the scrape of a foot scrambling for a toehold on the stone surface warned them that somebody was attempting to climb over.

Jesse pushed Grey flat onto the ground and joined Sam, waiting with his gun at the ready, knowing that the instant they opened fire the slim chance they had of sneaking away undetected would be gone.

A dark head of hair appeared first, followed immediately by the familiar features of Michael Westen.

"Jesus, Mike, I nearly shot you, man," Jesse grumbled.

"Not now, Jess'. There's a whole troop of soldiers going house to house and coming this way," Michael answered in clipped tones from his position on top of the wall. "C'mon Fi's got us a place to stay and a way out." He held out a hand and helped Sam to climb up and over to the other side.

Next, with Michael pulling and Jesse pushing, they managed to get Grey over and into Sam's waiting arms.

"Yo, so where's Fi?" Jesse asked as soon as his feet hit the ground.

"With our new best friends," Michael replied evasively, not wanting to explain that he had left her behind deliberately in an effort to keep her out of danger. "Come on, we should go. I'll tell you all about it on the way." He stared pointedly in the direction of a sudden distant crackle of gunfire. "We should get moving."

Dragging their captive between them, they reached the pick-up and realized there was no way they were all going to fit inside.

"It's okay. I'll take the open air seat." Jesse offered, running a hand over his shaven head. "I've got the 'do for it. But your buddy will have to travel up front with you guys."

"Great." Michael shot Grey a look filled with venom. "Let's get this over with."

In a matter of minutes Michael was driving out of the side street and heading back to Aiden Malloy's villa. The streets were still narrow and filled with pedestrians, not only on the pavement but in the road as well. As they got further away from the derelict house they began to relax, finally something was going their way.

Slowing to take a sharp corner, Michael managed to dig his elbow into Grey's side and when the mercenary winced and shifted closer to Sam, Michael took the opportunity to stamp down on his foot too. Just having his brother's killer in such close proximity was driving him insane. Each time he blinked, he saw a vivid image of Nate's blood soaked body.

"So, Mikey, what have you done with Fiona?" Sam asked, trying to take the younger man's attention away from inflicting pain on their prisoner.

Michael sighed and for a moment Sam thought his friend wasn't going to reply.

"Believe it or not," he began. "We ran into one of her dad's old friends and his son owns a plane. He can't take us home for a couple of days. So until then the old man is willing to let us stay with him."

Sam raised an eyebrow at the news, but it wasn't what he had asked. "So, what about Fi? Are you telling me she wanted to stay behind and trade stories with some old guy who used to know her dad?"

"Not exactly," Michael admitted. "I didn't ask her. I mean, only one of us needed to come get you and the old guy seemed so happy to see her," Michael tried to explain away his actions.

"Huh, you might be better off taking your chances out on the streets, brother. Fiona is gonna be mighty pissed off at ya."

Michael half turned his head to answer when the large truck in front of them suddenly came to a stop. Stamping on the brake, he tried to see out of the window what had caused the jam.

"Jess, can you -"

"Already on it, Mike," Jesse shouted, climbing out of the back to take a look further along the street.

He was soon at Michael's side, leaning in the window. "Yeah, big surprise, it's a roadblock," he snapped and then, after a quick look behind them at the car which was parked right up behind them, concluded, "And we're not going anywhere in this. Not now. Besides I can't see us trying to run a blockade with your borrowed hoop-tee."

Michael grimaced and then gave the truck a little pat on the steering wheel. "It's not that bad," he refuted Jesse's claim that Aiden Malloy's truck was an old wreck.

"They might not be looking for us," Sam said, his optimistic comment earning him a scathing look from both Michael and Jesse. "I'm just sayin' we might not be the only guys on the run in the whole of San Miguelito," he tried to explain himself.

"Yeah, well, I don't think we want to risk it." Michael was climbing out of the truck, dragging Grey with him. "It's not far now. The plane is on an airfield just off Calle del Phillipe and the guy's name is Malloy."

"Hold up, Mike. You are not thinking of taking off with-" Sam's words were cut off by Jesse's equally concerned speech.

"Mike, don't even go there."

"No, no. It's just in case we get split up," Michael tried to reassure his friends. "Just so you'll know where to go. Now let's get moving."

"Whoa, wait a minute." Sam had hold of Grey's arm, holding the assassin still. "We walk around with a bound and gagged prisoner somebody is gonna notice."

"We are _**not **_releasing him," Michael growled, tensing as all the anger bubbled back to the surface.

"No, that's not what I'm saying. But how about the gag?"

Michael stared long and hard at his brother's killer before reaching out and ripping the gag from Grey's mouth. "You're in this as deep as we are. You do anything to attract attention or try to run, I'll kill you and if I miss, just remember Card probably wants you dead, too."

The two men stared at each other until finally Grey dropped his eyes to stare at the ground. "I've got nowhere to go, Westen. So you lead the way."

It wasn't exactly a promise to behave, but they had no time for a debate. Nodding sharply, Michael relaxed slightly and moved away.

Abandoning the truck, they pushed their way through the locals, who were crowding the pavement. Keeping their heads down and trying to look inconspicuous, Michael led the way towards a narrow alley which he hoped would lead them away from the army patrols.

However, they hadn't factored in the tense angry vibes Michael was sending out in waves or how much attention Tyler Grey, being battered, bruised and with his wrists tied together with cable ties, would get them.

"Oh, hell," Sam groaned, as four soldiers who had been stood on the other side of the road suddenly began to move in their direction. "Mikey, we need to get off this street now!"

Grey saw his chance as all three of his captors looked across the street. Giving no warning of what he planned to do, he erupted into violence.

Coming to an abrupt stop, he stamped down on Jesse's exposed toes and then used the back of his skull to crash into the younger man's nose. Reeling, Jesse fell back a step and Grey turned and sprinted into the crowd.

"No!" Michael yelled in fury and took off after his quarry.

"Dammit, Mike! Stop!" Sam made a grab for his friend,but missed by a hair. Cursing, he helped steady Jesse while trying to keep an eye on the soldiers who were now splitting up; two were coming toward him and Jesse while the other two took off at a greater pace after Michael and fleeing Grey.

"C'mon, we can't stay here." Sam grabbed Jesse by the arm, dragging him in the opposite direction of the fast approaching soldiers. "Mike'll find us. We gotta go."

Continuing to tug on Jesse's arm, Sam led the way along the street and then, when bullets started flying in their direction, he lead the way up a steep set of steps and into the lobby of a small hotel.

Skidding to a halt, they paused just long enough to get their bearings before they took off again, running past the reception area and narrowly missing knocking over an elderly couple on their way out. The smell of food attracted their attention and moments later they crashed through a set of wooden swinging doors into the kitchen.

Behind them they could hear the frightened shouts of bystanders and the thud of heavy boots of the pursuing soldiers.

Darting to the back of the small kitchen, they fell upon the door marked as an exit and found themselves in a narrow alley filled with garbage from the row of businesses on the main street. Without stopping, they sprinted away, hoping they were going to be able to out run the soldiers.

**()()**

Michael's sole focus was on Tyler Grey's back. There was no way on earth he was letting Nate's killer get away. He had only let the man live because at first he had wanted him to stand trial for what he had done. But now he needed him alive to prove Card's guilt. Without Grey, they had no proof at all that they had been set up to die. It would be the word of an ex burned spy against a highly decorated senior agent.

Ignoring the pain from his ribs, Michael pumped his arms and legs and pushed through the crush of people waiting to pass through the blockade. Then when he finally saw a gap, he launched himself forward.

Michael's shoulder hit Grey in the small of the back and bore him to the ground. Soon they were rolling around on the pavement, Michael handicapped by his cracked rib and Grey with his wrists still secured by cable ties.

Eventually Michael got the upper hand, pinning Grey to the ground. With a snarl of fury, he pulled his gun from his waistband and thrust the muzzle into the assassin's neck. "Give it up, or die," he growled, cocking back the hammer and preparing to fire if Grey showed any resistance.

"I couldn't have said that better myself."

Michael slowly turned his head, the red fog of anger lifting as he saw that he was the one who was caught.

A man most likely in his fifties wearing a smart uniform with a major's insignia glared down at him. With the Major were eight soldiers, all with rifles pointing at the two Americanos del Norte.

"Drop your weapon and put your hands on your head." the Major spoke perfect English with a crisp, accent-less tone. His dark brown eyes were like cold dark pits and his mouth curved into a sadistic smirk as Michael let the gun drop.

"I don't suppose I can convince you we're just a couple of tourists?"

"No, you cannot." He turned to the man nearest to him. "Llevarlos." _Bring them._

As the Major finished speaking, the lights went out as first Michael and then Grey were struck with rifle stocks in the head.

**()()**

Having burst out of the back entrance to the hotel, Sam and Jesse took off along the alley, but only as far as the first open door they came to. Slipping inside, they found themselves in a small dark cantina. Moving quickly, they exited through the front door and back on to the main street.

The pavement was packed with people being forced back by angry shouting men waving their guns at the crowd. Mingling in amongst the chaos, Sam and Jesse had a good idea what was causing the fuss and pushing further into the crowd hoping to catch a glimpse of their friends fate.

"Oh jeez," Sam groaned.

From their position on the pavement, closed in on all sides by civilians, all they could do was watch helplessly as Michael and Grey's limp bodies were dragged along the street by a group of soldiers and then thrown unceremoniously into the back of an open bed truck.

At that moment, Sam came close to forgetting all his years of training. There was no way he could watch his friend being dragged off to god only knew what fate. With thoughts of having to tell Fiona and then later on Maddy that he had stood by while Michael was taken to his death filling his head, it was too much to bear.

Without conscious thought, his hand slid behind him to the comforting grip of his gun. It was Jesse who grabbed his wrist and held him back.

"Whoa, easy there, big guy. You're gonna get us all killed. It's the Militia that's got Mike." Jesse kept a tight hold on the older man. "Look at el jefe, you think those smart lookin' perfectly fitting, shiny leather boots are standard issue? This is a job for my man Chuck Finley. There ain't nothin' a little palm greasing can't fix with those guys."

Sam slowly relaxed, his hand coming away from his gun. "Yeah, well, we haven't exactly got a lot of cash to spread around, Jesse," he retorted, his heart sinking as the truck started up and rumbled off down the street.

Jesse shrugged,"Okay, then, Panamanian prison break, we just have to-"

"We have to go – now!" Sam, interrupted, nodding to where the soldiers were starting to disperse the crowd.

Even as they backed away, they felt unfriendly eyes on them. As the crowd thinned, a shout went out: "Hey! Alto! Ahí están! Alto! "

"I think they want us to surrender," Jesse commented as they took off running again.

Sam and Jesse had run and at times had hidden until at last all the sounds of pursuit had ceased. Jesse had lost one of his "stylish designers" boots when the sole had been ripped away climbing up a drain pipe, while Sam was breathing so hard he was having to lean against the chain link fence that marked the perimeter to the Calle del Phillipe airfield.

"So what do we do now?" Jesse asked. "We gotta find Fi quick and you're gonna have to tell her Mike's gone."

Sam held up a hand as he fought to gain control of his breathing. Finally, he straightened up and felt ready to talk.

"First off, Mike is not gone, he's not. We know who's got him; we just don't know where, that's all. And second, what's all this 'you're gonna have to tell her.'? We're in this together, buddy." He paused and thought some more about it. "We'll just have to make sure she isn't armed when we tell her... Now, let's go find this guy Malloy and then we can work out how we're gonna get Mikey back."

Jesse looked up and down the fence, the place looked deserted. "Okay, old man, do you need a boost to get over this dinky lil fence?"

Scowling Sam eyed the eight foot chain link. "Here, let an old man show you how it's done. Easy peasy."

As he replied, Sam turned, reached up and scrambled up and over the fence before landing heavily on the other side with a grin. When Jesse joined him, they jogged warily across the open space to the nearest hanger.

()()

Michael Westen came to while riding on the floor of a military truck. Opening his eyes, he stared at a neat row of twelve dust covered laced boots. When he attempted to turn his head to look up, one of those boots rose and then fell, catching him a glancing blow to the side of the head. Taking the hint from then on, he kept still and chose to wait for the right moment to act.

After what he thought was a short journey, he was forced to his feet and out of the truck. With Tyler Grey at his side, they weren't given any chance to look around or resist in any way. As they were pushed and dragged along, Michael realized with horror that they were not at a police station or military barracks. They were being taken inside what looked like an abandoned factory.

Before they had had time to think clearly, both men were tied securely to metal struts running from the floor to the ceiling. When the last of the soldiers stepped back, the major who had originally captured them step forward holding what looked like a cattle prod in his hand.

"I have had gun fights on my streets, buildings blown up and an unmarked fighter jet flew over my city, firing a missile. You can see why I am angry, yes?" As he spoke, he walked back and forth in front of his prisoners.

"You have nothing to say? Either of you?" The major shook his head sadly. "So be it."

Without warning he pressed the end of the cattle prod into Michael's side over his broken rib, smiling when the Americano struggled and tried to muffle a scream behind tightly clenched teeth. After five seconds, he removed the cattle prod and waited patiently while Michael coughed and choked as he caught his breath.

"Senor Grey, do you have anything to say? I must warn you, it was one of your men who told us of your involvement."

Grey took a deep breath and shook his head. When the cattle prod dug into his right shoulder, he managed to keep quiet but his body was locked rigid and his eyes filled with tears.

"I will find out what is happening in my city and I will bring it to an end." He turned away sharply. "Sergeant, I want answers. Soften them up for me while I go and fetch their friends."

As the major walked away, he smiled as he heard first one and then the other American del Norte scream. Reaching his car, he looked at his second in command.

"The CIA man, Reid, tell him I want a word."


	3. Guns and Grenades

**AIDEN.**

**A/N: I am sorry for the delay in posting this story, but I have had some issues with my internet over the last two weeks. I like to say thank you for everybody who has reviewed this story or but it on your favorite or alert lists.  
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**A special shout out goes to my friends Jedi Skysinger, Amanda Hawthorn and DaisyDay for putting up with me and my frustrations with certain internet and telephone companies. Our daily talks always brighten my day.  
**

**And lastly thank you as always Jedi Skysinger for finding time in your busy day to beta my stories, and help with research and always being there to bounce ideas around.  
**

**Now on with the story...  
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**Chapter Three. **_** Guns and Grenades.**_

"Sorcha, darlin', I tink our guest could do wiv sommit ta eat. Go sort us out some chicken sandwiches. Thar's a luv."

Aiden Malloy sent his granddaughter out of the room before turning his attention back to his guest, who even an hour after her boyfriend had run off, was still pacing about his living room with her hands on her hips and her head bowed.

"I get a wee bit cranky too when I haven't eaten fer a while... So ya mind tellin' wha has ya about ta wear a hole in me favorite rug, sweetheart?" he inquired in the same light hearted manner he had used since meeting up with his new friends.

Fiona stopped in her tracks and glared over at the old man. She had been abandoned by Michael after he had promised they were going to work together to bring down his brother's killer and now it appeared that she was the source of amusement for an old man she hadn't seen for over thirty years.

"Oh, Ah remember tha look," he smirked, not at all bothered by the death glare being sent in his direction. "Yar mammy used ta send it our way when me an' yar daddy went off on a job."

"This is not tha same," Fiona ground out. "I'm not me mudder."

"Nah, yar not, an' thot fella o' yers ain't a bit like yar daddy. I tell ya, girl, ya need ta be watchin' ya sel' around ham. He's a dangerous man, so he is. I could see it in his eyes."

"No, no, he is not normally so," she shrugged her shoulders. "He's just under a lot of stress -" She wanted to defend Michael, but realized the old man was right. Michael was wound so tight he was a danger to everybody around him. He was so focused on revenge, he was forgetting about everything else and that was why she was so annoyed with him for running off. He needed her at his side to keep him grounded.

"Stress, ha! Yar world is fallin' apart an' ya cannae see a way outta o' tha bloody fate waitin' fer ya... Tell me yar troubles, girl, an' we'll see wha' we kin put right."

She dropped down into the nearest chair, not knowing how much to tell him or what he could possibly do to help. She trusted him implicitly. He had been in her life throughout her childhood. He had been a close friend to both her parents and, from what she could recall, like an uncle to all her siblings. She was just so tired of the constant drama that seemed to have haunted them for the last year. She couldn't think straight any more.

"Michael has – a very powerful boss who wants him dead." She decided that she would keep the CIA out of their discussion as long as possible. "This _person_ has ruined his life and killed his brother and now he has us all trapped here in Panama. We have no way to get home, no idea who is after us, no money, no weapons and not a chance of getting away from the man when and if we do get home; he is too powerful." She felt sick. Saying out loud had just made everything so much worse.

"Soo this fella o' yars, he's tha sorta a man whose enemies have ta use missile ta kill ham? Am tinking this old boss ya mentioned is called Uncle Sam?"

"You know about that?"

"Oh, sweetheart, when Tommy O'Neill put tha word out, it traveled far n' fast. Fiona Glenanne teking up wid an American spy, an' tekin' tha's a big hole in what war downtown San Miguelito, it dont tek a genius ta work it all out... Wha d'ya brudders have ta say about tha boyfriend?"

Fiona sighed. "Sean stood up fer us, but tha rest o' tham-" She wiped a hand over her eyes. "I've not spoken o any o' tham fer nigh on three years."

"Old hatreds, darlin'," he commiserated and then suddenly brightened. "Still dey haven't tried ta kill ya, so they cannae be too mad..."

The comment caused the corners of Fiona's lips to curve into a small smile. "But it doesn't change the fact that we're screwed." The smile faded.

Aiden shook his head and rose up from his chair to stand in front of her. He lifted one finger. "Young people, yar always lookin' on tha dark side... Ya have a way home, or had ya forgotten about me boy Kenny an' his plane?" The first finger was joined by a second. "Ya know exactly whose affer ya, ye tol'd me so no' but a few minutes ago, an' if ya use tha brain god gave ya, yer could work out who tha man would send affer tha missile failed ta do the job." He brought up a third finger. "Now I cannae help ya wid money, but if ya ask nicely, I might see me way clear ta lend ya a gun or two." He held out his whole hand. "Come wiv me, Fiona Glenanne, an see wan' ya think o' me collection."

He took her into his garage and her eyes lit up as soon as she saw the beautifully maintained weaponry on display. This was more than she could have hoped for. Two AK47s, three AR15s and a Mossberg 500 pump action shotgun. All looked well used but in good condition.

"I know it's probably a lot less than ya normally work wid." He opened a drawer and revealed half a dozen different hanguns.

She cut him off with a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you!"

Aiden Malloy was right. Things weren't as bad as she first thought. She'd been so busy looking at their problems and trying to contain Michael that she had forgot they had found a friend.

"Ah, Yer still gonna 'ave ta deal wid tha C..I...A. Tha's yar man's old boss, am I right?"

"Not the whole CIA, jus' one of tha bastards," she admitted as she ran her fingertips over the weapons.

"Well, wid this little lot, mebbe ya kin surprise ham."

"I'd like to surprise him with a kilo of high explosive under his chair," Fiona muttered.

"Really?" Aiden spoke with glee. "Cos if ya mean it... Come wid me. Kenny does nae approve o' me little projects. But I kin see ya yer daddy's girl."

Rounding a stack of old furniture, she found a work top and several shelves packed with different jars filled with a variety of chemicals. Her eyes went round.

"Oh my," she breathed softly.

Aiden shuffled forward and started to pull several of the jars down off the shelves, placing them on the table before her. "C'mon, girl, show me yar skills. I remember ya an' Sean sitting watching as me and yar daddy worked. Ya were a natural luv."

With the assistance of somebody as enthusiastic as herself, Fiona set to work. She knew Aiden was distracting her. There was no way any bomb she made here was going to make it back to the States, but it kept her mind off what Michael was up to. Besides, she always thought better when her hands were being kept busy.

"Yar mammy had some skills too, ya know, a real eye fer detail. Your daddy use ta leave har his recipe book if he wa' goin' ta be away fer a while... Oooh, sweetheart, watch tha Magnesium thar..."

**()()**

"Hey – Jess' – j – just – hold – on." Sam puffed as he leaned against the side of the first aircraft hangar they came across.

"C'mon, man," Jesse urged the older man to keep up the momentum. "Mebbe when we get back, you should try spending more time _in_ the pool than _poolside _knocking back the mojitos."

"You've been talkin' to Elsa," Sam accused. "I'll have you know I'm in the best shape I've been in for six years." His breathing was returning to normal quickly. Sucking in his stomach, Sam patted his abdomen to show what he meant.

"Seriously,Sam?" Jesse raised an eyebrow, while looking the older man up and down.

"Yeah, well I think all the meals I've missed chasin' after Mike might have had something to do with. When we get back, I'm gonna suggest to the little lady we take a vacation somewhere without phones.

"Huh," Jesse looked down at his feet, or rather toes. The sock had finally given up under the abuse. "I'd settle for somewhere selling cheap kicks. This friend of Fi's better have a decent shoe collection from the Big and Tall store, man. For the record, I'm barefoot now."

Both men were nearing the end of their reserves. They had been on the run all day, with very little to eat or drink. The heat and humidity was going to finish them both off if they didn't get supplies soon.

Taking in a deep breath, Jesse let it out slowly. "You keep watch while I check it out."

Keeping close to the side of the building, Jesse crept round to the front. The tall, wide doors were shut and locked, but there was a side door which, when Jesse carefully tried the handle, clicked open. Peering inside, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and slipped inside. The place was empty, except for one back corner where behind a long wooden work bench, there was a single chair, a sink and, much to Jesse's relief, a fridge.

Sticking his head out of the door, Jesse beckoned Sam to join him inside. "Hey Sam, the place is empty and they've got a fridge."

Both men rushed across the open space to the refrigerator and sighed with delight at the sight of several bottles of water. Snatching out two, Jesse handed one to Sam and then reached back inside to pull out a pack of cold meat and a small block of cheese.

As they ate the small supply of food and guzzled down the water, Jesse checked on the sorry state of his feet while Sam went rummaging through the drawers under the work bench coming up with a couple of hammers, three long screwdrivers and a heavy wrench.

"Hopefully we won't need them, but this lot is better than nothing," he commented, passing Jesse a screwdriver and the wrench.

With a bit of food in their stomachs and their thirst quenched, they moved on. The next hangar was on the other side of a large open patch of long grass and tangled weeds interspersed with old rusting engine parts. The only way through it whilst remaining out of sight was crawl on their bellies. From their hiding place in the long grass, they listened to the sounds of loud music and rapid Spanish speech.

"I don't see anybody there who looks like their last name is Malloy," Sam commented as they watched four men walk out into the open, still arguing at the top of their voices.

Shifting his position, Jesse scanned the rest of the airfield, pursing his lips as he digested the size of their problem. There were eight more hangers to check out, and they were all spread out, meaning there was also plenty of chances of being seen.

"This could take a while," he muttered.

"It gives us longer to think of what we're going to say to Fiona," Sam replied. He was worried though, because the longer it took to find Fiona, the harder it was going to be to find Michael. Waiting until the men from the second hangar went back inside, they crawled through the grass to an old plane fuselage and from there sprinted over to the third hangar.

As soon as they got close, they knew they had found the right place as they heard a loud clatter and bang, followed by a stream of curses with a strong Irish brogue.

"I think we've found the Lucky Charms man," Jesse grinned, unable to hide his relief.

"Let's hope so," Sam replied.

They entered the cool of the hangar and walked round the cargo plane, following the grumbling complaints of a man who had nearly severed a thumb on a piece of stubborn machinery. As soon as they approached the mechanic's position, he turned to stare warily at them.

"Kin I help ya?" he asked not bothering to hide his suspicion.

"Er, hi there," Sam smiled, walking forward keeping his hands in plain sight. "The name is Sam. I'm looking for a friend. She's about so high." He held a hand about where Fiona's head would be. "Name's_ Fiona_? I was told you'd know where to find her?"

He could tell that the man didn't trust him completely, so he upped the charm offensive to a full blown, patented Sam Axe reassuring smile. "My friend, _Mike,_ told us to come here. We got separated. He said Fiona was with an old friend of the family. Her dad knew your dad." He was running out of information, he watched as the man slowly reached a decision.

"She went home wid me daddy... I'll call em. Wait har." Kenny backed away keeping a wary eye on the two strangers as he reached into his jacket for his phone.

"Sorcha, honey, whar's yar grandpa?... Well, go get ham, an' his new friend, I've got some fella's lookin' fer har." Kenny Malloy kept his eye on the two men as he waited for his daughter to find his father, all the time wondering what piece of mischief the old man was getting into.

"Da, thar's two men har say thar friends o' Fiona's..." He looked over at his guests, who were doing their best to look calm and friendly. "What are ya names?"

"I'm Sam Axe and this is Jesse Porter," Sam answered.

"Daddy?" Kenny nodded and then put his phone away. "He wan's me ta tek ya over ta tha house." He wiped his hands clean and then led the way outside to where his blue pick-up, which was in better condition than the one Michael had borrowed, stood waiting.

**()()**

"Ya should have given me tha phone. Whar's Michael? Did they say anythin'? Dammit, we should get over thar. D'ya have another vehicle?" Fiona was back to pacing. Pulling her hair up off her neck, she wound it into a bun and wrapped a band around her tangled tresses.

"They'll be har soon, Lassie. Ya need ta calm yersel' down."

"Something's happened ta Michael. Why else would they turn up at the airfield widout ham?" She paused, her whole body tense with a mix of fear and anger. Turning slowly, she regarded the small stockpile of weapons and the explosive device she had just completed with Aiden's assistance.

"Let's get all this packed. Because if Michael is harmed in any way, I'm gonna use tha whole bloody lot."

"Now, yar tinking." Aiden couldn't contain his glee as he started to search for a suitable bag to carry everything.

"Granddaddy?"

Aiden twisted his head round to the garage door. "Wha' is it, darlin'?"

Sorcha Malloy bit down on her lip and twisted a thick strand of long black hair around her fingers. "A truck full o' soldiers jus' pulled up on tha drive an' a coupla tham are coming up tha path."

Instantly Fiona started feverishly loading the hand guns, her eyes filled with the light of battle. Aiden however stopped her by placing a gnarled hand on her arm. "Sorcha, show Fiona, whar ta hide. I'll go an talk ta tha soldiers."

"No!" Fiona suddenly felt the old rush of fear, which used to fill her whenever soldiers used to burst into the family home. Her heart hammered in her chest as Aiden stared into her eyes, his calm demeanor settling her nerves.

"Ya wait outta sight until I give ya tha all clear. It's nuttin ta worry about. I've been doing this fer o' er sixty years. I know wha' am doin'." Patting her arm, he walked back into the house, kissing his granddaughter on his way past.

"Come this way," Sorcha pointed to another door.

Fiona solemnly shook her head and held a finger up to her lips. Then she too went back into the house with a loaded handgun in each hand. Aiden Malloy might indeed know how to deal with the local militia, but there was a very good chance these men were in the employ of Tom Card.

Staying out of sight, with her guns at the ready, she watched as Aiden approached the front door to answer the loud knocks.

"Uno momento, por favor,"he called out, his voice more cracked and frail than she had heard before.

As he swung the door open, Fiona tensed, her fingers slipping inside the trigger guards of her weapons.

"Sorry, sorry for taking so long Capitan."

Aiden's whole body language had changed along with his speech. Fiona's admiration of the old man was growing by the second as he gave a brilliant performance of an ancient confused man. She listened intently to the conversation taking place.

"Senor Malloy, can you explain why your vehicle has been discovered in the hands of two American spies?"

"My vehicle?" His Spanish was flawless with no trace at all of his native accent.

"We have traced a red truck to this address. If you cannot answer, you will have to come with us and explain to my superiors."

Aiden's hand shook as he leaned against the door frame. His voice, if possible, quavered even more than before. "Oh – oh please, my son will stop me driving. I lost it. I – I went to the store and – I guess I left the keys inside... Please. Please don't tell my son." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of crumpled bills. Thrusting the money into the Captain's hand, he clutched onto the man's sleeve. "Please take it. Just don't tell him. Please. He said if it happened again – "

"That is enough," the leader of the soldiers snapped, brushing Aiden's hands away and pocketing the cash. "Let go, old man. Your vehicle has been confiscated. If you want it back you will have to come to headquarters and pay the fine."

Aiden waited at the door until the last of the soldiers disappeared and then he straightened up and turned to grin at Fiona. "Ah tol' ya ta wait in tha hidey hole... D'ya ever do as ya tol'?"

She ignored his words, moving to go past him. "We should follow them. They could lead us ta Michael."

"Follow 'em in wha'? Me truck's been confiscated. Dinnae har tha soldier boy? 'sides tha war Capitan Rico Geraldo. He's second ta a right nasty bastid called Diego Montoya... Ah'll make a few calls an' see if ah kin find out war he's stashing his prisoners nowadays."

()()

"Well, we're har." Kenny Malloy pulled up onto the driveway. "Jus' remember wha' I said about yar lady friend. She sounded mighty upset. I could hear har shriekin' all tha way through tha phone line."

"Ha, upset, that sounds like our Fiona." Sam laughed nervously. "I told Mike she would be pissed at being left behind."

"Yeah, but now she's gonna be puttin' those designer boots up our asses!" Jesse complained.

Kenny unlocked the front door and led the way inside. "Wha' have ya ta be scared of? She sounded real upset, but, ach, she's a tiny wee thing."

"Uh-huh, You do know the Glenannes?" Sam asked as he scanned the interior of the villa preparing to duck; he was pretty sure there was a small angry Irish pixie lying in wait for them somewhere inside.

"Aye, I knew 'em, me Da knows 'em better." Kenny looked around clearly frustrated at not finding his father in the house. "Dammit, come wit me... Tha ol' fool, I swear one day he'll blow us all ta kingdom come."

The Irishman took them through to the garage and all three of them came to a stop at the hive of activity taking place before them. Kenny's daughter Sorcha was helping her granddaddy load spare clips for the small stockpile of handguns before them, while Fiona was stood at a wooden work bench, filling old tin cans with a mixture of chemicals and ball bearings.

"Fiona, I can explain." Sam edged closer to her position, his stress levels rising when he realized she was making home-made grenades.

"Really?" She looked up, her eyes filled with barely suppressed fury. "Please, go ahead. Explain to me how you and Jesse let Michael get taken by a psychotic major in the Panamanian army?"

"Look, sister, it wasn't like that. We didn't _let_ him get taken. He ran off after Grey when he made a break for it. There was nothing we could do." He pulled his gun out and waved it in his hand. "No bullets, remember?"

"Well, luckily for you, we have some now," she snapped and threw the just finished grenade straight at him.

Fumbling the catch, Sam just managed to stop it hitting the ground. "Hey, lady, don't take it out on me! You know what Mike's like and stop throwing your home made do-hickeys at me."

"Now, now, calm down, children," Aiden called out. "We gotta a man ta rescue."

For the first time Sam and Jesse got a good look at Fiona's new best friend. It was Jesse who raised a hand and stepped forward between his bickering friends.

"Er, Fi, Fiona, can we get a word, in private like?"

"War all friends har, fella," Aiden replied before Fiona could speak.

"Nae, Da, it's fine... I tink me an' ya need ta have a wee talk as well," Kenny intervened, taking hold of his dad's arm as he marched the older man out of the room. "Sorcha," he called over his shoulder. "You too, girl."

As soon as they were alone, Sam and Jesse moved to face Fiona over the work bench.

"That's the guy who is going to help us out?" Sam asked, his voice filled with disbelief. "Jeez, Fi, what are you thinking the guy is ancient.

"Seriously, Fi? The dude's older than Sam!" Jesse added.

"He's an old family friend from Ireland and, in case you hadn't noticed, it's his son who has the plane that's going to get us home and he is letting us borrow his guns... Guns, we are going to need to get Michael back."

Jesse closed his mouth in the face of Fiona's anger, but Sam wasn't finished. "You can't drag these people into our battle. You'll get them killed."

She huffed and straightened up, but then she realized Sam was right. Aiden Malloy had to be close to eighty years old. "We need them as tactical support... Let him help with loading the guns, but I'll talk to him and explain that he can't come along."

Seeing that Fiona had backed down, Jesse reached out and picked up one the completed grenades. "So what's this?" he asked.

"Ya, light tha fuse an' then throw it as far as ya can," Fiona explained in clipped tones.

"And then if you haven't lost a hand because it's gone off early, you run and hide." Sam added, taking the device out of Jesse's hand and carefully placing it back on the table. "I heard all about these home-made explosives from a buddy I had in the SAS. He told me how unstable these things are,how a lot of folks blew their own hands off with them."

"You're questioning my bomb making skills?" she asked indignantly, her eyes narrowing at the slur on her skills.

"No! No, jeez," Sam raised his hands in surrender. "So do we know where Mikey is being held?" He changed the subject.

"Aiden is working on that. Just before you arrived, the second in command of the local militia called round. They'd found Aiden's truck on the street."

"And they just split?" Jesse asked with disbelief.

She nodded, smiling at the memory of Aiden Malloy's performance. "He should have been actor. Now, let's get ready for action because as soon as we know where Michael is being held, we're going to be on our way."

"Er Fi, do you think you can ask your friends their shoe sizes and maybe get me some kicks?" He wiggled his toes to make his point.

()()

Michael opened his eyes and moaned softly. He felt utterly exhausted. The pain from his busted rib radiated out throughout his chest and his shoulder, which had taken the brunt of the assaults from the cattle prod, was so sore and tender that the merest flex of his muscles sent up a fresh agony. His hands were still cuffed behind his back, but instead of being held upright against a metal post, he was now lying on a cold hard concrete floor.

"Good news, Westen," Tyler Grey's barely audible voice sounded harsh and slurred.

Slowly twisting around so he could see where the hired killer was sitting slumped against a brick wall, Michael was pleased to see the man looked like he had taken just as severe beating as he had.

"I heard our host talkin'. He's offering up your head to some CIA Agent called Reid."

Michael ran his tongue around the inside of his lips, wincing at the coppery taste of blood. "So why are you so happy? Card wants you dead, too."

Grey shook his head. "He didn't know I was in that building or in the car. When this Reid guy gets here, I'll be let go."

Michael snorted in disbelief that the other man could be so naïve. Struggling to get into a sitting position, he took a couple of deep breaths, wishing he could get a hand to his side to support his rib.

"Didn't know or care. To Card,you're just another a loose end. I guarantee you'll be dead alongside me as soon as this Reid guy turns up. We should be working together to get out of here."

Grey shook his head. "Work with you? You're a goddamn traitor – Card showed me your file."

"It's all a lie. I've been set up."

"Really? Come on, man. You went off the reservation, burned spies, blew operations. You're a disgrace and as soon as this Agent Reid arrives, I'm going to be released because I'm gonna offer to tell him where to find the rest of your team."

Michael tensed to throw himself at the other man. He wanted nothing more than to get his hands around his brother's killer's throat and to look into Tyler Grey's eyes as he choked the life out of him.

But it wasn't the fact his hands were secured behind his back, or that he was so beaten down he lacked the strength to launch an attack that stopped him. It was the loud crashing **BOOM** coming from outside the room, followed by the lumps of crumbling rumble that fell on top of them that sent both men flat to the floor and seeking cover.


	4. To the rescue

**AIDEN.**

**A/N: A big thank you to everybody who has reviewed this story and/or put it on your alerts or favorites lists. A very special thank you goes out to my friends Amanda Hawthorn, Jedi Skysinger and DaisyDay for all your support and kind words after the recent tragic death of one of my other friends has meant so much to me. Your long e mails and FB chats have really helped me to cope as has being able to write FF.  
**

**Another thank you to Jedi Skysinger for the fantastic BETA job you do for all my stories.  
**

_**Chapter Four: To the rescue  
**_

Earlier while Michael lay unconscious on the floor of the abandoned factory.

"Fiona, lass, tis alright wid yar friends fer me ta come back in ta me own workshop?" Aiden Malloy strolled into the garage, his mocking tone and the twinkle in his blue eyes showing there was no hard feelings. "I know I'm jus' a weak an' feeble auld man, and am not wanting ta intrude on all ya important spy talk." He stopped to pick up a rag and began to wipe down the work bench.

"We don't think of you like that," Fiona glared at her friends, and then walked over to Aiden's side, slipping one of her arms around his. "It's just me friends thar don't have any manners." She leaned in and whispered in his ear. "Thar Americans, Mr. Malloy, they don't know how ta show proper respect."

"Mm," he agreed wholeheartedly. "I know wha' ya sayin', lass. Me boy has been away fram tha auld country fer so many years now, he's forgotten how ta respect his elders an' betters, too." He paused for a moment and then shrugged. "But I came ta say tha' I have some news tha might help ya find yar missing friend. I got word fram a fella I know at tha airfield. Two o' tha bastid Montoya's soldados are stakin' out tha place."

"They must be on to us," Fiona snapped, her eyes going wide, their earlier playfulness gone in an instant.

"Calm down, Fi. He's probably got men watchin' all the routes outta town." Sam stepped forward. "Let's not start panicking until we know what's goin' on for sure." He reached over and picked up the fully loaded Mossberg shotgun. "Though, while we're lookin' it wouldn't hurt, if it's just the two of them, stopping by and asking them a few questions."

"I like your thinking." Fiona grabbed a Glock semi-automatic handgun and an AR15.

"Er – guys can we wait up while I sort out some footwear. Please?" Jesse pointed at his feet. "Barefoot, remember?"

Fiona turned, her lips pursed into a tight line. There was no time to lose; the quicker they got to interrogate Montoya's men, the quicker they would find Michael. "Why don't you get cleaned up and have all the weapons ready to go when we get back with the location of where they're holding Michael?"

"I should -" Jesse came towards them, but stopped when Fiona held up a hand.

"No, we can't wait. We need to go now and besides you'll be no good later on if you can't walk cuz your feet are ripped to pieces." She gave Sam a not so gentle shove towards the door, catching the keys for the pick-up truck from Aiden before they rushed out into the fading light of dusk in Panama.

()()

Leaving the truck in a deserted side street, Sam led the way over to the spot where earlier on he and Jesse had climbed over the chain link perimeter fence. Sucking in the deep breath, Sam waited for Fiona to land lightly on the other side and then clambered over after her.

"I've gotta running tally goin' and, at the moment, Mikey is paying for the next four times I take Big Momma out," he muttered as he brushed the dirt off the knees of his pants after his less than elegant landing. "If he keeps goin' lone wolf on us, he'll be payin' for our dinners out for the whole year."

"Oh, believe me, he's not going to be any state to do anything by the time I finish with him," Fiona replied. "I swear, the next time he attempts to run off, I'm going to shoot him in the leg."

Sticking to the perimeter, they began to circle the airfield until they caught a glimpse of two men in uniform casually walking out of one of the hangars. Sinking down low to the ground, Fiona and Sam studied the soldiers, noting how they seemed to be more interested in their conversation and smoking than actively searching for foreign spies.

"They're making it too easy," Fiona complained, taking up a grip on her AR15.

Sam's hand came down over the top of the barrel, pushing it down to point at the ground. "We're here to question them Fi, not shoot them."

"I can think of a lotta places I could shoot them and they'd still be able to talk. It might even speed up the interrogation."

"No," Sam replied firmly, taking his hand off the rifle. He pointed across to the empty hangar he had discovered earlier with Jesse. "We need to get them over there. Do you think you can get them to chase you?"

Fiona rolled her eyes and got up onto her knees, letting the AR15 hang on its strap. "Get two low life soldiers to follow me? Really, Sam, I learnt how ta do tha' at fourteen years old, helping me brothers get revenge fer tham killin' me big brother." She watched until the soldiers turned away and then sprinted forward, aiming for a stockpile of oil drums.

Sam covered her as she closed in on Montoya's men. Once she was in position, Sam then made his way quickly to the empty hangar. Once there, all he had to do was wait for Fiona to lead the men to him.

He heard the shout and the order to stop. Then Fiona came running around the corner of the building. As she passed him, Sam could see the flush of excitement on her face. Only he didn't get long to look, as the fastest of her pursuers came barrelling around the corner straight into the stock of Sam's shotgun. As one soldier crumpled, the second tried to come to a stop, bring his rifle to bear and fix on his target all at once. Fiona didn't give him a chance to finish any of his moves as she stepped from behind Sam and delivered a swinging blow with the barrel of her rifle.

Standing over her victim, she tossed back her hair and smiled triumphantly. "Well, that was fun."

Sam snorted and huffed before throwing her some cable ties. "Let's get them out of sight before somebody gets curious. The side door isn't locked." He gestured with his head to the narrow door he had used earlier.

With their prisoners secured and now out of sight, Fiona paced in front of had no time to wait for the men to come back to their senses on their own. Stopping in between the soldiers, she drew back her booted foot, kicking first one and then the other hard in the leg.

Groaning, the first of the captives opened his eyes and looked up at a hard eyed rugged faced man and a petite crazy looking woman, who pushed the barrel of her gun under his jaw.

"Hablas Englese?" she purred.

The man looked worriedly from the woman to the man and then back to the gun wielding senorita.

"What do you want?" he gulped as Fiona's rifle barrel moved from his jaw to his groin.

"Where can we find your boss, Montoya?" Sam asked.

Their prisoner opened his mouth to answer when his companion suddenly came back to consciousness.

"No! Les digas nada!"

Fiona didn't hesitate; her rifle spun in her hand and the stock struck the second man a hard blow to the stomach. As he lay writhing on the floor, she turned her attention back to the first soldier. With a toothy grin, she returned the muzzle to his groin.

"You were saying?"

He gulped and then gulped again when he saw her finger curl around the trigger.

"You better answer quick, buddy. Your boss has her boyfriend and she's real possessive," Sam added.

"North of here in La Gallineta, there are some old factories. Empty now."

Fiona removed her finger from the trigger and the muzzle from where it had been resting. "There, that wasn't hard, was it?"

The soldier sighed and licked at his lips. "Major Montoya has contacted a man in the CIA... He is handing your friend over tonight." He paused, gazing at Fiona through frightened eyes. "Very soon."

Fiona and Sam stared at each other, both paling at the news that Michael was about to be sold to Tom Card's tactical squad. Then as one they began to move. While Fiona gathered up the soldiers' weapons and radios, Sam pulled out a roll of duct tape.

Once they had both men effectively silenced, they dragged the soldiers over to the kitchen area and then Fiona did something that took Sam totally by surprise.

Reaching under her top, she produced a stick of dynamite wired up to a small detonator.

"Fi," Sam voiced his concern.

She placed the stick into the waistband of the soldier who had given them the information and stuck the detonator switch under the heel of his partner's boot.

"Now, you need to explain to your friend that if he moves his foot off that switch, you'll both go BOOM!" She parted her arms, mimicking an explosion.

"Fiona!" Sam almost shouted, grabbing hold of her arm.

"Let's talk about this on our way to La Gallineta." She pulled free and stalked angrily towards the door, forcing Sam to give chase.

Outside he caught up to her and pulled her round, slamming her back against the hangar wall.

"Now listen here, Missy, we're not blowing up other country's militia, regardless of what they've done."

She sighed and smirked. "It isn't live... There's no explosive in it... It's just rolled up card with a detonator attached."

Sam's shoulders slumped and he shook his head in disbelief. "You're goddamn nuts, lady."

"But it will ensure they stay put while we get Michael back." She stepped away from the wall and began to run back to the truck. "Really, Sam, you must learn to show a bit of trust."

()

They screeched to a stop outside Aiden Malloy's garage and jumped out.

"We gotta go now," Sam called out as he picked up a canvas bag filled with ammunition.

"We know where Michael is being held, but there is a CIA tac team heading there as well," Fiona filled in the gaps, as she grabbed a street map of San Miguelito off one of the shelves. "I need you to show us where the empty factories are in La Gallineta."

"I'll show ya. Kenny help them load up yar truck. You too, Sorcha."

Aiden cleared a spot and Fiona spread out the map.

"It's gonna take ya at least half an hour ta get thar." Aiden pointed to a southern part of the city. "Yar here, an' ya have ter to get ta here." He pointed to the north of the city and then pointed to a single block on the map. "There's a coupla empty factories around here."

Fiona studied the route she would take, running a finger along the paper, biting on her lip as she realized they would have to get across the entire city in the early evening traffic.

"Ya'll get lost, I'll come wid ya, show ya tha way," Aiden offered.

For a moment, there was silence and then the room erupted.

"NO!" Everybody answered him at once.

Kenny Malloy crossed the space and pulled his father around to face him, his face flushed red with anger.

"Yar not goin'! Ya not thirty years old anymore an' this isn't Belfast or Newry. Yar seventy eight years auld. It's abou' time ya start actin' yar age," he roared at his father. "Now, go set wid Sorcha."

The two Irishmen locked eyes,while the rest of the room remained quiet and then Aiden dropped his gaze and shuffled his feet.

"Am sorry, son," he muttered brokenly. Turning away from his son, he turned back to face Fiona, who stood at the work bench with her hand still hovering over the map.

"It's been nice seeing a friendly face fram back home. Take care, luv." He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss to her cheek. Facing the rest of the room, he blinked his eyes, tear filled. "Sorry fer bein' such an embarrassment."

The room remained silent as Aiden slowly shuffled out past them all on his way out. As soon as he disappeared from view, Kenny let out a long sigh and raked his fingers through his hair.

"Am so sorry fer tha'." He walked to Fiona's side and looked at the map. "He's right. It's a long drive ya have ahead o' ya. An' I'm guessin' what yar about ta do is dangerous, too dangerous fer an auld man. He sometimes forgets how auld he is. Wha' I said wa' fer his own good, ya know thot, don'tcha?"

"He just wanted to help," Fiona replied in a small voice.

"We understand. Thanks for all the help, Kenny," Sam spoke over the top of Fiona's comment and shook the Irishman's hand. "C'mon, Fi, we have to go. We've gotta go get Mike."

"If we're not back by daylight, we won't be comin'." Jesse shook Kenny's hand and followed the other two to the pick-up.

Kenny followed them out and put a hand flat on the hood. "Am gonna go work on tha plane, come straight ta tha hangar. If I can't get ya out tonight, I'll try ta find somebody who can."

"We can't thank you enough for this, Kenny," Sam answered and then, with Jesse driving and Fiona navigating, they set off.

()

Kenny watched his blue pick- up leave the drive and then turned back to his daughter, who stood quietly in the background watching.

"Sorcha, go find yar granddaddy. I wan' ya both ter stay wid yar Tia Marisol 'til this business is done."

"Tia Marisol? Ya know how Grandda feels about Mammy's sister? He won't wan' ter go."

"He'll do as his tol', girl." Kenny replied gruffly.

He had had enough of his father reliving his youth. For the first time in a very long time, he had been given a clear reminder of what their life had once been like – and he didn't like it.

He stayed on the driveway with his arms crossed over his chest staring at the empty street. San Miguelito had been his home now for far more years than Belfast had been. Yet he still remembered living through The Troubles, still had the occasional nightmare about the bombings and the gun battles.

His dad only ever seemed to remember the excitement of running through the back streets and hiding from the patrols. The anticipation of waiting for the car bomb to go off, watching the end result of his day's work go up with a deafening roar and turn in to a giant blinding fireball.

"I cannae find him, daddy! I think he went off wid his friends." Sorcha stood at the garage door her features registering her concern.

Letting loose with a stream of expletives, Kenny turned back to the house. He knew he shouldn't have trusted his old man. When had Aiden Sean Malloy ever turned away from a fight?

"Tha daft old bugger! Well, I cannae do anything about it now. Ya get over ta Tia Marisol's an' ya stay thar, girl, til I come get ya when this is all over and done with. I'm gonna get back ta work now."

()()

As the blue pick-up truck entered the district of La Gallineta, the occupants noted the lack of vehicles on the road or pedestrians on the pavements.

"Well, I think we're getting close," Sam commented, as he peered out of the side window.

"Pull place is just round the next corner," Fiona ordered, as she looked up from the street map.

The lack of locals in the area was worrying. It meant that Montoya was being brazen about his activities and the residents knew to stay out of his way.

Leaving the pick-up parked up in a gap between two apartment buildings, the trio cautiously moved forward, staying in the shadows until they spotted a line of four large black SUVs being guarded by a heavily armed two-man team dressed in black combat clothing and Kevlar vests.

"Card's team is already here," Fiona hissed. "We need to get Michael now!"

She went to move, but Sam stopped her and pointed up to the roof of a nearby building. "Look! Up there, on the roof."

Staring up, following the line of Sam's arm, Fiona and Jesse caught sight of the muzzle of a sniper rifle showing over the building ledge. A quick scan of other roof tops and Fiona spotted a second shape, which to an untrained eye would have passed unnoticed.

The trio paused, trying to come up with a plan which would not end with Michael in Card's hands and them dead in the middle of a South American city.

"We're not getting in the front. Let's take a look at the back," Jesse commented when they couldn't come up with a way of getting past the roof top guards.

As he lead them back the way they had come, Fiona noted his long fast strides and the new footwear. "Somebody had time to do some shoe shopping."

"They belong to Kenny and they're not as comfy as I make 'em look," Jesse answered, but then came to a sudden stop. "Shi – it,"

The back was only guarded by a single man, but there were no windows or doors. The only way in was going to be noisy, noisy enough that the men inside would have plenty of warning that a rescue was taking place.

Fiona fell back and leaned against a nearby wall. There was no way the three of them were going to be able to get Michael out in one piece. "We'll have to wait for them to move him."

Sam bit down on his bottom lip, hesitating before speaking knowing, Fiona wasn't going to like what he was about to say.

"Given that Card wants Mikey de-. I don't think they'll bring him out."

"Well we go in now," she stated, her expression set in stone as she checked the clip in her hand gun.

"A – huh, no way, lady," Sam growled. "No way are we making some suicide run. Let's go back to the truck and gear up and, while we're doin' that, we'll figure out a way to get inside." He cupped her shoulders and stared into her blue-green eyes. "We'll get him out, but we're going to be smart about it."

Slowly she relaxed and nodded. "O-kay, but you had better come up with a plan quickly."

Arriving at the pick-up, Jesse reached into the bed and then jumped back, his gun coming up as a shape appeared from amongst the bags.

"Sounds like ya could do wiv another man." Aiden Malloy grinned at them, and then climbed out over the side. "Sorry ta scare ya like thot, boy, but ya should really watch whar yar sticking yar hands."

"Jesus Christ! You can-_not_ be here." Sam was beyond furious. "We have no time for this."

"Well, am here, an' fram wot I heard, ya need me... So, don't ya be tryin' ta tell me any different."

Fiona stepped between them. "No! No, Sam, we can use him."

"Use him? You heard his son? The guy who is flying us out of the country doesn't want -"

"Ya getta a car, ya fill it wiv some o' this little girl's toys an' send it through tha' front door. Thot way, ya getta nice big bang an', wiv a bit a luck, most of tha bad guys out fer tha count."

They stared at the old man, each one running through the scenario Aiden had laid out. "This could work," Jesse spoke up eagerly. "We could take out the snipers while they're concentrating on the car."

"Yes, you and Sam could then keep all the attention on the front, while me and Aiden make a hole in the back wall," Fiona added with enthusiasm.

They all looked to Sam, waiting for his judgement and, as much as he would have liked to find something wrong with the plan, he couldn't. Letting out a deep breath, he sighed. "Let's go find a car to turn into a battering ram."

()()

When the car loaded with Fiona's home-made grenades and the one medium sized bomb she'd made with Aiden's assistance crashed into the doors of the abandoned factory, the resulting explosion made the ground shake and the walls begin to crumble. Half of Montoya's force was taken out, either killed or severely wounded in the blast and everybody else nearby was left dazed and in shock. It was then that shots started to hit the remaining walls and disused machinery, sending the men still standing searching for cover.

Within minutes of the assault beginning, another explosion came from the back of the factory and Fiona Glenanne and Aiden Malloy appeared through the thick cloud of smoke, their semi-automatic rifles crackling, as they drove back the few men who came in their direction.

()

At the first loud BOOM, Tyler Grey and Michael Westen were thrown flat to the floor as lumps of crumbling rumble fell all about them. Lying helpless, trying to catch their breaths, they listened to the sounds of a full-scale military assault taking place outside their room, multiple cracks of gunfire mingling with the cries of the wounded and the pings of bullets ricocheting off abandoned machinery.

Both men struggled up on to their knees, shaking off the layer of dust which covered their backs and hair. Their hate-filled eyes locked on each other. Only the fact they couldn't use their hands was stopping them from killing each other.

Another explosion and part of the wall collapsed inwards, causing Michael to fall forward, giving Grey the time he needed to get to his feet.

"You're not getting outta here, Westen," the assassin growled as he delivered a swift kick to the fallen spy's head.

Watching with satisfaction as Michael groaned and a trickle of blood began to flow from his dust covered hairline, Tyler Grey brought his foot back to deliver another blow when a rifle stock hit him hard between the shoulder blades. As Grey dropped to his knees, a second blow caught him on the side of his head knocking him into an unconscious heap.

"Michael!" Fiona stepped over the body of Card's hired killer and dropped to the floor at her lover's side, pulling his head into her lap. "Michael? C'mon wake up." She delivered a hard slap to his cheek and, as soon as he groaned, she pushed him into a sitting position.

"C'mon, we've no time fer ya to sit around teking a break," she scolded as she worked on the handcuffs, using a hair clip to pick the lock.

As soon as she released his wrists, she dragged him roughly up on to his feet and wrapped her arms around his waist to steady him while her lips sought out his in a deep frantic kiss.

"Fi, Fiona." His words lost as he returned the kiss, his hands rising to tangle in her hair. Finally breaking free, he stared into her eyes. "I thought I'd never see you again."

The punch which landed on his jaw rocked his head to the side and nearly dropped him back to the floor. "Ya _ever_ run off like that again and I swear I'll shoot ya me sel'."

Then before he could reply, she kissed him again.

"D'ya tink ya kin leave all them shenanigans til affer we get outta har?" Aiden Malloy peered into the room, a thin trickle of smoke trailing from the muzzle of his AK47.

The Irishman's words had broken the spell and suddenly they both realized where they were.

"He's right. We'll finish this _later_... C'mon."

Slipping her shoulder under Michael's arm, she tried to help him walk out of the room. But he pulled away and turned, still swaying, to look down on the crumpled figure of Tyler Grey.

"We need him. He's the only one -"

"We have to go now," Fiona answered and tried to pull him away.

"NO! Without him, I-"

"Children! We cannae be har." Aiden, fired off more rounds towards the besieged CIA and militia forces as he spoke.

"We have to bring him with us. He knows about your friends," Michael's voice cracked with desperation.

"Get yar man outta har. I'll see ta the other." Aiden finally entered the room and made to pull the hired killer up.

Satisfied that he was getting his own way, Michael relented and took the Glock 17 hand gun Fiona held out to him and followed her into the chaos which was taking place on the main factory floor.

Most of Montoya's men were down, close to where the burning remains of an ancient looking truck stood just inside the doors. The CIA tactical team had fared a little better, but were for the most part being kept pinned down by the two snipers firing on them from the rooftops outside.

Michael, still suffering from the effects of Montoya's torture and the kick to his head, looked around trying to take everything in. It was while he was looking, he saw Aiden setting light to a fuse attached to an old tin can.

"NO!" he yelled, realizing just too late what the old man was doing.

"Ya tink ya kin inform on my family, ya bastid," the old man growled, seconds before throwing himself forward as the room disintegrate into a pile of bricks and twisted metal.

"No – I – he was – he was -" Michael was so furious he couldn't get the words out.

Bullets started coming in their direction, cutting off the spy's words and, before he could argue further, Fiona and Aiden forced him towards the large hole in the back wall.

"What took so long?" Jesse shouted as he pulled to a stop next to them.

"Yar man dinnae want ta leave," Aiden called back as he helped Fiona get Michael into the cab.

()()

Jesse drove through the back streets, following Fiona's direction as she tried to navigate a way back to the Calle de Philippe airfield while avoiding the police and military patrols rushing to the scene of carnage they had left behind.

All the way, Michael sat in a stony silence, his arms folded over his chest staring straight ahead, his mouth a thin down turned line and his eyebrows fixed in a frown.

In the back of the pick-up Sam Axe could only wish for a bit of silence; as soon as the old man had settled in next to him, he hadn't shut up.

"Ha, jus' like tha auld days. We showed tham Brit bastids a thing or two. Wha' d'ya say, boyo? We got 'em good this time, aye? We gotta em good."

After the first five minutes, Sam handed Aiden the Mossberg shotgun and pointed to the road behind them. "Why don't you keep watch?"

"Good thinkin' boy. Them sneaky SAS buggers could be anywhere."

Wiping a hand over his face, Sam took up position to watch the rear and to make sure the old man didn't start taking pot shots at the locals.

With what had just occurred, Sam was silently praying that Kenny Malloy had his plane ready on the tarmac, because he was pretty sure they were going to have the remains of the Panamanian Militia and Tom Cards tactical team hard on their heels.

Feeling the truck slow, he risked a look into the cab noticing for the first time the rigid posture of his best friend's back. Right then he realized he wasn't sure which was was more dangerous: what was coming up behind them, or the man sitting up front in between Jesse and Fiona.


	5. A Brief Interlude

**AIDEN.**

**A/N: Thank you everybody who has reviewed this story, and those who have put it on their favorite or alerts listings. Your continued support means a lot to me. A special thanks also to my wonderful friends the Awesome Amanda Hawthorn, the Delightful DaisyDay and the Super Jedi Skysinger. You three ladies help make me smile and laugh out loud everyday.  
**

**As always Thank you Jedi Skysinger for finding the time to BETA my work.  
**

_**Chapter Five: A Brief Interlude. **_

Jesse let out a sigh of relief as he drove through the unmanned gate of the airfield. Heading straight into Kenny Malloy's hangar he brought the pick-up to a halt and killed the engine. The journey back had been uncomfortable in the extreme.

Dodging militia patrols while driving along unlit narrow streets in a car loaded down with weapons had been a piece of cake compared with dealing with the ice cold, barely contained fury of Michael Westen. The man had spent the entire journey staring straight ahead with his arms folded over his chest. Each time Jesse had to apply the brakes or take a corner, he found himself tensing as he waited for Westen to explode. He was just grateful that Fiona had been between himself and that ticking time bomb.

"Okay, people we're here," he spoke with false joviality. "Let's get outta here and back to Miami." Opening the door, he jumped out taking a breath of cool twilight air. It was then he saw the tools spread out on the ramp and, nearby on a wooden work bench, a burnt out motor.

"Oh, man," he groaned. Glancing back to the pick-up, he wondered if he should be looking for a suitable spot to take cover before Michael found out the plane wasn't flight-worthy.

"How's Mikey?" The truck bed creaked as Sam climbed out and then helped Aiden back to solid ground.

"Hard to tell. In between the loaded silence and death glares, I'd say he's somewhere between pissed and furious. What happened back there?"

Sam sent a look to where Fiona was trying to coax the ex-spy out of his hissy fit. "From what I got off Fiona's psycho leprechaun, Tyler Grey got himself blown up."

Jesse's mouth made a perfect "O." That certainly explained Michael's mood.

"Yeah, Card's hired gun made the mistake of threatening the ol' guy's family." Sam added.

Before they could discuss the matter further, Kenny Malloy appeared from a small room at the back of the hangar.

"Da! Dad, what tha hell war ya tinking, goin' off like thot?" His face flushed with anger as he reached the old man's side and, after giving the two men a brief nod in way of a greeting, he began to pull his father towards the kitchen area.

"Ha! Ya shoulda seen us, boy. We got em good – an' sent them – tha' war still alive – scattered – ta the – wind." Aiden was giddy with delight, his speech punctuated by deep rasping breaths, like an overexcited child trying to talk and breathe at the same time.

"Go set down fer a while. I tol' ya 'til am sick ter me back teeth, ya too ol' fer all this runnin' around."

"Ach, ya sound jus' like ya mudder God rest har soul... Cassie never understood me work." Aiden slumped down on the worn out couch Kenny used when he worked all night. "But at least she always supported me efforts."

"Support ya? Ya jus' admitted ta blowing up tha local Militia! Am gonna make a call an' get Marisol ta come pick ya up and take ya back ta her place."

_**()**_

Meanwhile, as Mr. Malloy was trying to get his father to agree to stay at a relative's house, Ms. Glenanne was trying to coax her fuming boyfriend out of the truck.

"I know you're angry," Fiona began slowly. "But you said it yourself, Grey was a threat to Aiden's family."

Michael remained motionless except for the slight narrowing of his eyes as he stared out through the windshield of the pick-up truck, his gaze fixed firmly on the back wall of Kenny Malloy's aircraft hangar.

"Aiden did what he had to do to protect his son and granddaughter." She tentatively skimmed her fingertips over his bicep following the outline of the rock hard, bunched up muscle lying under smooth tanned skin.

Sighing, Fiona waited for Michael to respond. Ever since the death of Tyler Grey, he had been sulking. Her fingers twitched at his refusal to speak or even acknowledge her presence. He was acting like a spoilt child and the urge to slap some sense into him was becoming harder to resist by the minute. She made one more attempt to get through to him.

"Without his help, we would have never got you out. Card's lackeys would have killed you and Grey would have told them where to find the rest of us. Is that what you wanted?"

She watched his jaw tighten as he ground his teeth together and then jumped as, without a word, he slid away from her to climb out of the cab. She jumped again as he viciously slammed the door closed behind him. Now he was going too far! She would not be ignored. Her temper flared and she gave chase.

Exiting Kenny Malloy's pick-up truck, she walked around to where Michael stood next to the tailgate facing Jesse and Sam.

"When are we getting back to Miami?" She heard him snap. _At least he hadn't completely lost the power of speech_, she thought.

"Er, well, Kenny has been working on the ramp, but it's not -" Sam answered, studiously avoiding making eye contact with his best friend. From past experience the ex-SEAL knew when the former spy lost control like this, the safest thing to do was to keep out of his way or failing that, you kept your head down and hoped he left at least a few buildings standing.

"So, we're not getting' out of here any time soon." Michael fumed, turning away to glare at the broken plane.

"He's making a coupla of calls," Jesse added. "He's got a friend who knows a guy who knows a guy who runs guns into the US and he might be able to give us ride."

"Gr-reat." Sarcasm dripped from the ungrateful spy's tongue. "So, we have no way out, our only source of information on what Card is up to is buried under a pile of rubble and the longer we're delayed, the more time the bastard has to prepare."

"Michael," Fiona called out, "Come with me. I want to check that broken rib and any other injuries you've picked up." Standing with her hands on her hips, she dared him to ignore her a second time.

"I'm fi-"

"_Now_, Michael." Her eyes flashed; she had reached the end of her patience.

For the first time since his rescue, Michael looked fully at his girlfriend and his expression changed from suppressed rage to one of resignation. He might not want talk, but it was very clear that she did.

"_Fine._" That single word came out as a snarl as he turned back to face Sam and said, "Push Kenny into hurrying up on finding us a ride." He threw an ice cold stare over to where Aiden Malloy sat reliving the events of his action packed evening. "And disarm that old b – timer."

"Michael!" Fiona snapped.

With a frustrated growl, he marched after her as she made her way across to the other side of hangar and into Kenny's workshop.

Sam and Jesse watched the couple disappear from view and visibly relaxed. If anybody was capable of bringing Michael back under control, it was Fiona Glenanne.

"Do you think it's wise, lettin' them go off like that?" Jesse asked as the door closed quietly behind the couple.

Sam smirked. "It'll be okay. She won't hurt him too badly and, with a bit of luck, he'll come out with his head screwed on straight."

"Seriously?" Jesse raised an eyebrow.

"Mike just needs to blow off some steam. He'll shout and rage at her and then she'll punch his lights out. But, in the end, he'll come around."

"I hope so... Cuz what's going on – it's way over my head."

"Mine too, buddy. Now let's go get that shotgun away from the bomb happy leprechaun."

**()()**

Fiona switched on the overhead light and closed the door before making her way slowly over to where Michael stood waiting for her with his back against a cluttered wooden workbench.

Without uttering a word, she pushed him down to sit on an old hard wooden chair before roughly pulling and tugging at his t- shirt until it came over his head. Ignoring his sudden intake of breath, she bent over and set about examining the discolored, black and blue skin covering his torso. Only when she was satisfied that the broken rib hadn't caused more damage did she move on to examine the burn marks scattered over his flesh from the touch of Montoya's cattle prod.

"Grey was with you when you told Sam and Jesse how to find me," she spoke softly as she continued to let her fingers walk across his skin searching for fresh bruises, torn muscles or broken bones . "He would have led Card's men straight here and we would have all been dead... Was Grey's life worth more to you than ours?"

"No, of course not... I could have – Ow!" She stopped his excuses by aggressively probing at the cut caused by Tyler Grey's boot connecting with his head.

"What? What could you have done? _If_ you had managed to get him back to Miami, who would you have handed him over to? The FBI? You know damn well he would have been handed straight back to Card. Besides, it wasn't that long ago you wanted to kill him yourself. I mean, that's what we came down here for, wasn't it? To get the man who murdered Nate."

"Things are different now. I didn't know my old instructor was the one setting us up. I realized that he was more use to us alive. He worked for Card; he might have known what he was planning."

"Even if having him around got one or all of us killed? He nearly got you killed and he would have told Card's team where to find us. You should have put a bullet in his head when you took him down."

Her words stunned him. Getting to his feet, he brushed her hands away from his head wound and turned his back on her.

_Was he doing it again? Putting his objectives ahead of the people around him? _He had sworn after Nate, after what had happened to Nate, he would be more careful.

The image of his little brother's broken and blood stained body lying on the pavement filled his mind and brought tears to his eyes. Sniffing, he angrily swiped away the evidence of his weakness.

_What was wrong with him? What made him willing to risk his friends' lives without a thought of the consequences?_ But seemed he just couldn't stop doing it. He was so focused on the end result, he forgot about all the collateral damage that occurred in his wake. _His mother was right. He was too dangerous to be around_.

"Michael."

This time when she spoke his name, her voice was softer, a tenderness creeping into her tone.

When he refused to look at her, she snaked her arm over his shoulder to catch hold of his chin and force him to turn around and face her.

"Michael, it was the right thing to do. Grey would have caused nothing but trouble all the way home. What Aiden did was the only safe thing to do."

Swallowing thickly, he nodded. In his mind, he could hear his mother's last words to him...

"_I should have protected him, from you."_

She hated him, and rightly so. They would all be better off without him.

Just like Nate had no business being involved in a CIA operation, none of them- Fiona, Sam or Jesse- had any business being in Panama with him now and, just like with Nate, there was nobody out there to protect them from his actions.

"Fi," he sighed, dipping his head so he could rest his forehead against hers. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine how he was going to cope when he left her behind. Just thinking about what he was going to do was breaking his heart. The pain of all those months they were apart while she was in prison was still fresh in his mind.

But there was no other way. When he killed Tom Card, and he was going to kill his old mentor, it was going to bring a world of pain down on everybody connected to him. He would be hunted down by his own government and there would be nowhere left for him to hide.

He knew if he told her what he planned to do, she would insist on staying at his side until the bitter end. But he couldn't let that happen to her. He would not let another loved one get hurt because of him. So, to keep her safe, he was going to have to abandon her; he saw that now.

A shiver went down his spine and he dipped his head lower to bury his face in her hair. Holding her in a tight embrace, he breathed in her scent, committing the moment to his memory. _It was going to be just like Dublin all over again._

"Hey, hey." She tried to get him to lift his head, to look her in the eye. She ran her fingers carefully through his hair, trying to avoid all the bumps and cuts. "Don't do this to yourself." She sounded scared. "Whatever it is, we -"

It was her turn to have her words cut off as he pulled back to stare into her eyes. Gently, he smoothed back the stray tendrils of hair framing her face.

"Fi," he breathed her name before leaning in and kissing her, a deep kiss full of passion and need. His hands cupped her cheeks, holding her as his lips hungrily devoured hers as he sought to show her how much she meant to him.

She pulled away, surprised at this sudden burst of out of character behavior. Staring into his eyes, she saw desperation and something else, something a little scary etched into his expression.

"Michael?"

Slowly he sank down onto the chair, making room for her to stand between his legs. Without speaking a word, he wrapped his arms about her hips drawing her in close so he could rest his head against her stomach. Closing his eyes, he relaxed into her, rubbing his stubble covered cheek on her jeans.

She knew he was under an inordinate amount of stress. He had been on edge ever since Anson Fullerton had appeared on the scene, using her as leverage against him until she had put an end to it. What should have been a celebration of her freedom had turned tragic. Now, with his brother dead and the man who had been like a father to him trying to kill him, she didn't know how much more he could take.

Combing her fingers through his hair, she waited for him to make the next move.

Swallowing thickly, he hesitantly began to speak. "My mom – before we left... Before we left, I went to the house – she said, she should have protected Nate, from me. That I -" His faltering voice trailed off. He didn't want to break down in front of her. He prided himself on his ability to keep his feelings of hurt and abandonment locked away.

"Your mother is still grieving. She doesn't know you, not the _real_ you."

He snuggled against her, letting her words soothe him, as his hands sought out the warm skin under her top.

He could feel the heat of her body and, as he rubbed against her, he felt the tightening of her stomach muscles. It was all so familiar; he wished they could stay like this forever.

But that would never happen.

Regardless of what she said, he knew his mom was right. He was too dangerous to be around. Something he had done all those years ago had brought him to the attention of Management and that had later gotten his father killed. He had sent Nate out against Anson and gotten him killed. He had dragged every person he cared about into his mess without a single thought for their safety.

He looked up, staring at the worried expression marring the features of the woman he loved. This was probably the only alone time they were going to get before he left. He glanced towards the door. They were out of sight and sound of the people in the hangar. He trusted that neither Sam nor Jesse would come in to disturb them unless Card's team was actually breaking down the doors to the hangar.

He needed this. He needed this one last time before –.

Letting out a soft moan, his hands slid further under her top, stroking the warm soft skin of her back. As her top was rolled up, his lips ghosted over her exposed torso. Rising slowly, he began placing feather light kisses from her belly button upwards until his nose nuzzled the edge of her bra as he lifted her T-shirt over her head.

"Michael?" Wide eyed, she pulled him away from his caressing her body. "I -"

He cut her off, his teeth nipping at her through the soft lace of her bra, grazing her nipple.

"Michael," she gasped pushing him back again to find herself staring into his lust filled blue eyes. "Sam – Jesse, they're -" Her mind was a whirl at his sudden lack of tactical awareness.

"Shhh. Please, I need this. I need you," he whispered, his voice husky with passion. This was more like Dublin that he cared to admit. Only this time it was his decision. This time,he wouldn't leave her to deal with all the fall out from his actions. This time he would make sure she was out of danger first and had no way to come after him.

He took hold of her wrist. Lowering himself back into the chair and with a gentle tug, he encouraged her to sit astride his lap.

"We both need to decompress." He nibbled on her ear, distracting her while his fingers worked on her bra. "Nobody will come in," he added as he slid the straps down her arms. He sent to the floor along with her top.

Drawing her closer, he ran his tongue lightly over her lips before he gently probed against her teeth. She willingly parted them and, as their tongues met, he felt a heated rush of love for this woman who had given him everything.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to live just for this moment, no longer caring about the outside world. They broke apart, only to kiss again, his fingers tangling in her hair and massaging her scalp while she dragged her nails over his bare back, no longer caring about the cuts and scrapes that covered his body.

Slowly his mouth worked its way from her lips, to her chin and on to her throat, peppering her skin with gossamer like kisses and nips. As she sighed and arched her back, his lips travelled across her clavicle to her breasts.

Teasing one nipple with his tongue, he used a finger and thumb to pinch and tug on the other. The feel of her writhing on his lap pressing against his rapidly hardening length was fast pushing him towards the edge.

What they were doing was wrong on so many levels, but he couldn't stop it. She flung her head forward, burying herself into his neck, her teeth biting down on his shoulder in an effort to quell the moans of rapture that were building up and demanding release.

"Fi, Fiona." He drew her head back, stroking her brow and then her cheek. "We need, I -"

Gasping, she nodded and shifted on his lap, undoing his pants and pushing them down low enough to free him from their confines. As she worked on him, so his fingers did the same for her, making her stand to let the barrier to their pleasure fall away.

When she next climbed onto his lap, it was slowly and they clung to each other as she surrounded him, sheathing him in the most intimate of embraces.

All the stress and tension fell away as they lost themselves in each other's arms. As they moved in time with each other, their tongues took up the dance in a kiss that expressed their love far better than any words.

**()()**

Back in the hangar, Sam was checking and reloading all of the weaponry, trying to keep his mind focused on the task at hand rather than on how much time they had before any one of the groups hunting them down discovered their hiding place.

He was also fighting the urge to borrow Kenny Malloy's phone and put a call through to Elsa. So far he had only missed one check in with the little lady. But after the heartfelt message he had left on her voice mail the last time a mission had gone sideways, he knew she would be worrying. He also had a nagging fear that Tom Card might be looking to round up some leverage to make them come in. Elsa and Madeline sprang instantly to mind. If Card took either one into custody – he shook his head thinking like that wouldn't help anyone.

With the last gun reloaded and nothing left to distract him, Sam turned his attention to where Jesse was working on the wrecked motor which controlled the cargo plane's lifting mechanism.

"How's it goin'?" He walked over, noting the frustrated look on the younger man's face.

"Damn thing is seized up tighter than Mike. This bird isn't gonna fly without some major work on the motor." He wiped the grease off his hands and wearily arched his back, stretching his aching muscles and nodding over to where the plane's owner was walking in their direction. "Hey, it looks like he might have some news for us."

Kenny Malloy dropped his cell phone into his overall pocket and went over to where two of Fiona's friends stood at the work bench.

"Where's Fiona?" he asked, turning his head as he searched the large open space.

"She's with Mikey, trying to talk him down," Sam answered easily.

"I need ta speak wid -" Seeing no sign of the elusive Ms Glenanne, his eyes settled on the closed door to his workshop.

"Oh, whoa there!" Sam blocked the Irishman. "Mike is pretty riled up, ya know, with your dad blowing up his prisoner. Him and Fiona are better off being left alone for now until he's calmed down."

"I wondered wha' had me ole man blatherin' on about Casey O'Dell," Kenny replied and then went on to explain. "O'Dell wa' an informer, me Da' killed ham back in '78. Blew tha bugger up wiv a car bomb. Is that wha' he's done? Blown some poor sod up?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it too much. The guy killed Mike's brother, but he could have given us some valuable intel on how to get to his boss."

The Irishman took a deep breath and let it go. "Me Da', he gets confused. He wouldnae done it otherwise. I tried ter make ham stay here, wid me. Ya saw that, didn't ya?"

"It's okay, Kenny. The guy deserved all he got. Mike'll get over it... So, what do you need Fiona for?"

"I've got ya a ride outta here... It's not tha fella I said about. It's, well, she's a friend." The Irishman blushed. "She normally flies illegals, drops 'em inta tha Everglades. She's willing ta take ya – fer a price."

"We don't have any cash on us, Kenny," Sam answered.

"She don' want money. She wants ya ter get har plane off har ex partner. Tha's why I wanted ter talk to Fiona."

"Oh, so, now we've gotta steal a plane?" Jesse lifted his hands, linking his fingers behind his neck. "How do we do that?"

"She'll be har in an hour or so ta tell yer all about it," Kenny answered. He looked over to where his father sat talking to himself. The rescue had certainly fired up the old man; he was going to be impossible to live with now.

"Shouldn't ya be getting Fiona now?"

"No, they'll be out when they're ready," Sam answered calmly.

There was no nothing on earth, short of Card's people launching a full scale assault, that would make him interrupt what was going on in that small room.


	6. Sacrifice

**AIDEN**

**A/N: _Thank you all for your reviews for this story and those of you who have put it on your alerts or favorites list. I am sorry for not sending out personal thanks to you all but a mixture of RL and juggling several stories means I have little time left._  
**

**_A special thanks to my friends Jedi Skysinger, Amanda Hawthorn and DaisyDay for brightening up my days with e mails and texts. Also to Jedi Skysinger for finding the time to BETA all my stories. _  
**

**_In the spirit of this incredibly fast paced action packed and angst filled season of Burn Notice, this chapter is non-stop action with a tiny piece of angst and anguish on top.  
_**

_**Chapter Six - Sacrifice.**_

Agent Jeff Reid held his radio loosely in his hand, waiting for his call to be put through to the chief of operations Tom Card. Three hours had passed since Michael Westen had escaped and the simple exchange of a large amount of cash for two rogue agents had been turned into one colossal pig screw.

It had taken three hours to clean up the mess left by Westen's team of mercenaries. Montoya, the head honcho of the militia group, was dead along with half his men. The two CIA snipers who had been taken down by Westen's rescuers had concussions and, in one case, a broken jaw. Four other members of his team had injuries from ricocheting bullets or from being caught in one of several bomb blasts and two more had been killed.

Leaving the militia to deal with their own people, Reid had made sure his injured were treated and the dead were bagged and tagged to be returned home. Those in one piece had then set about collecting bullet casings and any remnants of the explosive devices that had been used. Only now that the scene was sanitized did he risk giving his boss the bad news.

"I hope you're calling me with some good news." Reid snapped to attention at the sound of his boss's voice.

Licking his lips, he delivered the only piece of good news first. "Grey has been eliminated."

"And?"

"Sorry, sir, Westen got away. There was a rescue. I've lost two of my team and have six wounded and the head of the local Militia is dead, along with half his force." He kept the bad news brief, knowing Card didn't want to hear excuses.

Reid waited, listening to Card breathing deeply into the phone. He could imagine the man's look of fury. Tom Card hated excuses, but he hated failure even more.

"I was hoping for a bit more good news, Reid. All you had to do was hand over a case full of cash. What went wrong?"

"There must have been a leak from the militia group... Somebody told -"

"Ya don't say, _wow_."

Reid swallowed thickly and looked up at the star filled sky.

"Okay, kid, this is what I want you to do. Find out who passed on the intel to Westen's team and then get them to show you where they are... Am I goin' too fast for you here?"

"No, Sir."

"Good. Now the next time you report in, it better be to tell me you have Westen and his little band of miscreants either in shackles or in body bags."

_**()()**_

With all their pieces of clothing back in place, their hair smoothed down and their breathing returned to normal, Michael and Fiona faced each other and smiled. Michael slowly raised a hand to gently move a few stray strands of hair off her face. All signs of the previous tension and simmering anger was gone, at least for the moment.

"We're not the enemy, Michael. We're your friends; we all want the same thing." She gave him one more reminder that he wasn't on his own, that he had a team he could trust and rely on.

Leaning in, he rested his forehead against hers. "I know, I know, I'm sorry." Closing his eyes, he let his hands drop onto her hips. _If they could just stay like this, just the two of them, together._

Sighing, he suddenly straightened up. _B__ut that wasn't possible. Tyler Grey __was dead, but he had just been the gun, a finger on the trigger. Tom Card was the man who ordered the kill shot that took down Anson Fullerton – and Nate. So until Card paid for what he had done, they had to keep going. He had to keep going._

"Hey?" Fiona read his troubled expression. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he smiled. "Come on. Let's find out if they've found us a way home yet." He led the way to the door.

Stepping back into the hangar, they walked slowly over to where Jesse, Sam and Kenny stood talking.

"Hey, Mikey," Sam called out as soon as he spotted them. "Kenny here has found a friend who might be able to give us a ride back home. They'll be here soon to explain the details."

"Details?" the spy queried. As he looked around the hangar, he noticed that Kenny's pick-up was missing. "Where's the truck?"

"I sent me Da home. He needed a proper rest, an' besides I don't wan' ham interfering in wha's being planned," Kenny answered.

"Sam?" Michael was more concerned about getting the answer to his first question.

"Ah, well, their friend's plane isn't exactly here. We've gotta help her steal it back off her ex-boyfriend."

"Steal a plane? Like we've not done that before," Fiona grinned happily while Michael just glared.

"It's the best offer we've got," Sam answered the unspoken accusation.

"Hey, it looks like she's here." Jesse pointed to the approaching twin lights following the dimly lit road to the Malloy hangar.

Before any of them could speak, Kenny stepped forward, reaching the car as it came to a stop just inside the doors. Grabbing hold of the door, he held it open for the woman inside while she climbed out.

"Fellas, this is me friend, Inez Valdes."

"Hola," she smiled before placing a tender kiss to the now blushing Irishman's cheek.

Inez was about five feet four, dressed in jeans and a tight t shirt that showed off her shapely figure. In her late thirties or maybe early forties, her short cropped black hair was free of any grey and, behind a set of rimless glasses, her dark brown eyes regarded the men and woman who were supposedly going to help get her plane back.

"These are tha folks I tol' yer about: Sam…Jesse… Mike and Fiona," Kenny gestured to each of them in turn.

Inez finished her study of the group before turning back to Kenny. "Guerrero has my plane on a runway cut into jungle in the Camino de Cruces national park. He must have twenty or more men with him, guarding the warehouse. How can these -"

"Er, hello! Hi, there..." Jesse held up a hand. "As the folks that are going to be stealing this plane, how 'bout giving us a little more low down here? _Twenty guards?_" He hadn't been keen on the plan in the first place and now that they could be facing twenty armed guards, he liked it even less.

"Yes, yes, sorry," Kenny mumbled apologetically. Turning to Inez, he gave her a reassuring smile. "I told you they took on Montoya's militia. Honestly, I'm sure they can help."

"Well, if you say so." She faced the group, concentrating her gaze on Jesse, as he had been the only one to speak to her. "I had a boyfriend, Enrique. We were helping people to get into the US for the last two years. Then six months ago, a man, Salvador Guerrero, comes and offers to pay us three times what we have been making if we run his drugs instead of people. I turn him down, but the next day I wake up and Enrique and the plane are gone.

"Guerrero? Where do I know that name from?" Jesse asked.

"The Cartel's man in Panama," Michael supplied the answer in a cold flat tone.

"I helped her to track the plane down." Kenny interrupted. "It's being kept next to a warehouse out in Camino del Cruces national park. They've made their own compound and runway in the middle of the jungle. We thought about sneaking inside, but there are too many armed guards for us just to go in there and fly it out by ourselves."

"So, is your plane really broke or is this just a way to get us to help your friend?" Michael asked bluntly, his eyes narrowed and fixed on Kenny.

"No! Hell, no!" The Irishman erupted, standing almost nose to nose with Michael, his large hands bunching into fists. "Ya think I'd do sommit like tha'? Ya kin see tha state o' tha motor. Yar own man took a look at it."

Sam pushed his way between the two men, using the flats of his hands to separate them. "Hey, easy. Mikey didn't mean anything, did ya, Mike?"

When Michael didn't answer, Sam sent Fiona a silent plea for help. But instead of rushing to his aid to stop a fight which would kill any chance of them getting home, she just stood with her arms folded and a grin on her face.

Luckily, Inez Valdes had more heart and definitely more sense.

"When Kenny called me, he asked if I knew anybody who could help." She spoke directly to Michael. "It was _my_ suggestion. He said you had just taken on the militia and needed to get out of Panama quickly. I thought somebody who could do that would be able to get me my plane back."

Everybody breathed easier when Michael relaxed and stepped back. He pursed his lips and took a moment to think about his words. "Sorry for that," he apologized.

"Okay, then, we're good?" Sam asked looking at Michael who nodded and then at Kenny.

"Aye," he growled. "Ferget about it."

"I brought a map of the area." Inez took a step away, leaned into her car and came out holding an ordinance survey map. "I'll show you where they're holed up with my plane." She laid the map out on the hood of her car and began to show the team the size of the task set before them.

_**()()**_

The newly promoted Major Rico Geraldo stared long and hard at the CIA man standing before him. His predecessor, Montoya, had made a deal with this man, a very profitable deal for all concerned. But now was the time to make a new arrangement, a chance for him to show the remaining members of his group that he was a good choice as commander.

A quarter of a million US dollars for the heads of Michael Westen and the three people helping him was a good deal. It was the same offer as Montoya had agreed to and, as there were less of them to share the cash, now it was tempting.

"I have many dead. My men are not so eager to fight against such a formidable enemy. We would have to hunt them down. It would take much time," he explained the difficulties, seeming reluctant to take part in a man hunt.

The American smiled at him, all teeth but the eyes remained cold and detached. "So what can I do to help convince your men to help?"

"I want another hundred thousand and for that I guarantee my men will find Westen by daylight, Geraldo answered.

He watched as Agent Reid appeared to think the offer over. The extra money was for himself. He would let his men share out the rest between themselves. It would make him appear to be a generous leader. It would buy him the loyalty to hold on to his position.

"It's a deal, _but_ you only have a few hours to make good. Westen is looking for a way out of the country," Reid finally answered. "And once he is gone, so is your money."

Geraldo smiled and his eyes glinted. He knew something the gringo didn't and that piece of information was going to make him rich and solidify his position of power. He shook the American's hand before imparting the information he was holding.

"I have two pieces of intelligence. First, two of my men are unaccounted for – they were on patrol at the Calle del Phillipe airfield. Second, the vehicle used by Westen belongs to a man whose son rents a hangar at that airfield. They are extranjeros – foreigners, from Ireland, I believe."

"Irish? Westen, and more particularly his girlfriend, have strong connections to Ireland." Reid offered his own shark like smile. "Lead the way, _Major_ Geraldo."

_**()()**_

Jesse Porter sat behind the wheel of Inez Valdes', Nissan Sentra and, as he drove out of the city and onto the narrow roads leading into the rainforest, he thanked his lucky stars that he was well over six feet tall and of a muscular build. It was precisely because of his dimensions that he had got the job of driving the little car.

As soon as they had filled the trunk of the car with their supply of weapons, it had become apparent that the Sentra was not built to carry five adults. Fiona had been all for them stealing another, more suitable car, but Inez had refused to be involved in taking somebody else's only form of transport. So it had ended up with him behind the wheel, Sam at his side and Michael, Fiona and Inez wedged tightly into the backseat.

The journey out to Salvador Guerrero's secret landing strip took three hours, three long uncomfortable hours. Even in the cool of pre-dawn, the car got hot and stifling and, as they got further from the city and on to narrower and narrower roads, the Sentra's overloaded suspension let them feel every single pot hole and rock in their path.

Finally, Inez touched a hand to his shoulder and announced they were less than a mile away from their destination and they should stop. With a sigh of relief, Jesse peeled himself out of the car and stood aside as the three in the back nearly fell out in their eagerness to escape the hell they had put themselves through.

"I know exactly how a sardine feels now," Fiona grumbled.

Sam arched and then stretched his back, the audible sounds of his spine popping back into place had them all sending him a look of concern.

"So what's the plan here?" he asked when he noticed the looks coming his way.

"Reconnaissance," Michael replied from where he stood next to the open trunk.

He handed binoculars to Fiona and Sam and kept a set for himself. "Jesse, you and Fiona take the east side. Sam you go with Inez and check out the west and I'll head north. We'll meet back here in half an hour. We're looking for a way to sneak inside, preferably without a fire fight."

_**()**_

After a pushing their way through the jungle, Fiona and Jesse eventually came across the first signs of Guerrero's compound, a ten foot high steel chain link fence, topped with rolls of razor wire. Climbing up a tree, they settled down side by side peering out through the foliage.

"Well we're not getting in there without mounting a full-scale assault." Fiona studied Guerrero's compound through the binoculars. "There's what twelve, fifteen armed guards watching the place. What do you think they've got in there?"

"Cocaine. Lots and lots of cocaine," Jesse answered. "C'mon, there's no way we're gettin' in on this side without starting a war. We should go see if Mike and the others have found a way inside."

When they got back to the car, the others were already there and, from the grim expressions on their faces, it was obvious they had had no luck either.

"To the north, they have guys up in a watchtower. I think they're mostly there to keep watch on the main road. But once we breach, if we get spotted, they'll be able to take us out with their rifles." Michael tried to hide his frustration at the delay.

"There are the two man teams patrolling the perimeter, not to mention the ones round the outside of the warehouse and around the plane," Sam added.

"So we're not getting' in quietly." Michael paced near the back of the car, his arms crossed over his chest and his head bowed as he tried to come up with a plan.

"I packed a few of those grenades I made with Aiden," Fiona remarked casually. "What if we set them off on the opposite side of the compound to where the plane is sitting? We can make them think hell is raining down on them and then sneak in while they're busy trying to fend off an attack."

Before anybody could comment, Sam turned on Fiona, his face suffused with anger. "You put those _**things**_ in the trunk? Dammit, Fi, you could have blown us all to pieces!"

"Fi?" Michael asked, not clear on what grenades she was talking about or why Sam had such a strong reaction.

"Oh, you didn't know? She's been making grenades with that ancient, trigger happy, deluded Leprechaun, Aiden Malloy."

"How many have you got?" Michael asked, ignoring Sam's outburst. Now he had an answer.

"Hey, dangerous _unstable_ explosives in the trunk of our car, as in Tinkerbell coulda blown our asses off!" Sam was not going to be ignored.

"But she didn't and we can use them to even the odds," Michael answered calmly. He had complete faith in Fiona's explosive skills. "The plane is parked up on the east side of the compound. If we set off those grenades on the west side, it should get everybody looking the wrong way while you sneak on board." He glanced at Inez. "Sam and Jesse can give us covering fire and we can board when you taxi over to the runway."

Everybody seemed happy with the plan, everybody but Jesse, who picked up one of the grenades. "It's a good plan, Mike. It just needs one little change."

Michael raised an eyebrow and glared at the younger man.

"I'm gonna be the one who goes with Fi. You think you're hiding it, but you've got a busted rib, remember? And all those little souvenirs you got from el Hefe's cattle prod? You are not up for playing quarterback, man, and you definitely ain't jumping onto a plane that's on the move."

"Jesse, you've never worked with these things. If you get the timing wrong, if -"

"I'm a quick study. Fi can brief me on the way." He took a quick look at his watch. "Now, if we're doin' this before full light, we need to get a move on, people."

"He's right, brother," Sam put in softly. "You'll be a bigger help getting us inside the compound than out there."

"Okay, fine. Let's go." He knew it was pointless to argue further when they ganged up on him like that.

Fiona picked up the bag holding her explosives and she and Jesse took off through the jungle to the west side of the compound. Hiding in the trees and long grass, Fiona talked Jesse through the procedure with the grenades.

"Light tha rag and then throw it as far as ya can away fram yersel'. Ya should have five seconds 'til it goes boom, but some o them don't give ya anywhere near that. So just beware. Light an' throw."

The rest of the team had barely enough time to get into position when the first of the explosives went off, a loud boom sending up a cloud of dirt and shredded bits of plant. The reaction was instantaneous as guards came streaming across the compound heading towards the sound of the explosions.

By the fourth boom, Michael had cut a hole in the fence and they were all inside, running across the open ground towards the plane. As they neared their target, a guard stepped out from behind a stack of wooden pallets. Even as his hand reached for his radio, he was borne to the ground by Michael Westen.

As soon as he spotted the guard, Michael had changed direction and increased his speed to a sprint. Hitting the guard with his body weight, they both ended up on the ground, the guard choking with Michael's hands wrapped around his throat.

With Sam Axe hard on her heels, Inez ran up the steps and onto the plane. Taking her seat, she began to quickly run through all the checks before starting up the twin engines.

The roar of the aircraft's engines finally drew Guerreros' guard attention, and all the fire power, which had been outside, was now coming at them. Inez slowly manoeuvred the plane onto the runway while Michael and Sam fired back at the guards.

"Your friends are coming!" Inez shouted, her voice sounded higher pitched than normal.

"Get lined up for take-off." Michael shouted back. "As soon as they're aboard, go!"

More shots came their way, several ricocheting around the inside of the fuselage. Reaching his hand out, Sam helped Fiona and then Jesse onto the aircraft while Michael kept up a constant stream of covering fire.

"GO! Get moving!" Sam yelled out to Inez.

The woman needed no more encouragement. The engines roared and the plane started along the runway, building up speed, and suddenly they were airborne.

As Inez began the flight north towards the Atlantic and onto the US, the others all sank back onto the floor, breathing a sigh of relief they could finally rest. For the next few hours, there was nothing for them to do. They could relax and make their plans for getting back to Miami.

The euphoria lasted for all of ten minutes.

"Hey, guys, we have a problem," Inez called out.

_**()()**_

Kenny Malloy had waited until they had driven off and had then started to pack everything away. There was no way he was going to get any sleep until he got word they were safe. It wasn't that he was bothered about Michael or Fiona or any of the other members of their team. It was Inez. He had known her for years and had for sometime admired her from a far.

He had taught Inez to fly during his short stint as a flight instructor when they had lived closer to Panama City. But, at the time, she had been barely twenty years old, spending some of her inheritance after her parents' deaths and he had been married with a heavily pregnant wife. Over the years, they had remained friends, but nothing more. He was after all nearly twice her age.

But recently that friendship had changed. His wife had been dead for nearly five years. Sorcha was growing up and would soon be leaving home and he was lonely. Inez, on the other hand, had just been dumped by her long-time boyfriend and lost her only form of income. Over a late night drink, both of them wallowing in their loneliness, that friendship had changed to something more.

He was worried for her safety, worried now that she was no longer dependent on him, she wouldn't want him anymore. Worried that she did want him, as much as he wanted her, and that he would have to tell Sorcha and his dad that they were relocating.

They had spoken about it already, made plans. How if she ever managed to steal her plane back, they would have to go on the run from the cartel. The plan was to relocate to Florida. She knew people who made I.D's. They would sell both planes and set up a new business and life together.

With the tools cleared away, he went over to the radio and checked his watch. It was too soon. They wouldn't be at Guerrero's compound yet. Frustrated, he turned away. Going home wasn't an option. He wouldn't be able to sleep and his pacing would wake the old man. Then he would be stuck dealing with Aiden and his tales of the old country and his whining about being left out of some action.

Eventually he settled down on the old couch and, at some point he must have closed his eyes, for the next thing he knew, there was a rifle muzzle digging into his throat.

"Hola, Senor Malloy." Rico Geraldo smiled evilly over the barrel off his gun.

"Geraldo?" Kenny croaked and then coughed as the muzzle dug in deeper.

"_**Major**_ Geraldo, peon." Stepping back when he was satisfied he had made his point, Geraldo pointed across to where his men were dragging more prisoners inside. "Look, I've bought you some company."

Kenny made to stand but was stopped by the major's gun. He could only look on as his father and daughter were pushed across the hangar towards him. Aiden had deep cut to his head from which blood still ran freely down his cheek and onto his shoulder. Sorcha looked scared to death, clutching at her grandfather's arm as she sobbed uncontrollably.

"What have ya done ta them?" Kenny demanded in English.

"Nada," Geraldo answered and then changed to English. "Nothing – yet."

With Aiden and Sorcha at his side, Kenny hugged his family, as they were surrounded by the remains of the militia and then Kenny's heart sunk further as he recognized the group of heavily armed strangers. These had to be the CIA men who were after Westen and his friends.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Michael Westen, Fiona Glenanne, Sam -"

"They've gone, you missed them," he answered honestly, his eyes straying to the Americans who stood watching and listening intently.

"You lie," Geraldo snarled, making a grab at Sorcha's arm.

The girl screamed loudly and Kenny pulled her close, putting himself between her and the major.

"Answer my questions or I hand the girl over to my men."

It was at that moment one of the American's stepped forward. "That's enough, Geraldo," he barked. "Stand down!"

"Mr. Malloy, my name is Reid. The people you are protecting are murderers, the man Westen is a traitor to his country. He has committed too many crimes to go into right now. Why get injured – let your family get hurt- to protect such a man? Where has he gone?"

"Son," Aiden hissed a warning.

But Kenny saw the truth of their situation. He had no such loyalty to a man he had known for less than twenty four hours.

"They went looking for another plane... Mine is busted."

"Carter, check he's telling the truth," Reid ordered one of his men. "So, if that's true, where have they gone?" He turned back to Kenny.

"I don't know."

"Mr. Malloy, if you lie to me again, I'm going to leave Major Geraldo to get the answers I need."

"Son, don't do it," Aiden growled.

"What choice do I have, Da?" Kenny answered and looked up at Reid. "They were going to get a plane off a private airfield near the jungle." He closed his eyes and tried to block out the sound of his father cursing him as a coward.

"How long ago did they leave?"

"I don't know. It wa' after midnight."

Reid motioned to his men and had Kenny Malloy dragged over to his radio. "Get them on the radio. Tell them if they don't land back here you and your family are going to be killed."

"They won't come back because of me," Kenny argued.

"Westen might not want to, but the briefs I've read on Axe and Porter, they won't want your families blood on their hands." He handed Kenny the microphone. "Make the call."

_**()**_

"I repeat, if ya out there, Westen, this is Kenny. I have some folk har tha want ta see ya. They say they'll hurt us if ya don't land back har."

"We have to land," Inez spoke first.

"She's right," Sam reluctantly agreed. "We can't let them take the fall for us."

They all looked at Michael as he stared out of the windshield. It was hard to accept defeat, but he could see no other choice than to do as Kenny asked.

"Answer him. Tell them we're landing." He turned away, wanting to be alone.

He had finally done what he feared. He had gotten them all killed. Sinking down, he sat with his back against the fuselage and covered his head with his hands. Maybe he could make a deal for the others. Maybe he could talk to the team leader and convince him to let the others go.

_**()()**_

The Calle Del Philippe airfield came into sight and Inez brought the plane down to land. As she slowed down and came to a stop, she watched as two jeeps came down the runway towards her.

"Cut the engine and then open the doors. Tell your passengers to come out with their hands empty," A voice crackled directions over the radio.

Obeying the commands, Michael turned to the others. "Okay, this is it. I'll tell them we won't come out until we see the Malloys and then we do a swap. They come aboard and we'll go out." He sucked in a breath. "I'll try to talk to the guy in charge. I'll see if I can make a deal for you. None of you -" He stopped, unable to continue and turned away, brushing Fiona's hand from his arm. _How could they want to have anything to do with him now?_

"Michael!" Fiona couldn't keep the hurt out of her voice.

"Fi, leave him be." Sam caught hold of her arm and kept hold even after she punched him on the shoulder. "He has to do this... You have to let him."

Michael stepped into the doorway and leaned out. The two jeeps in the front were filled with local militia. Behind the plane, there were another two jeeps and, right there in front of him, was a large black van, surrounded by a full CIA tactical team.

"Come out, Westen. Keep your hands where we can see them," the agent in charge called out.

"Not until I know the Malloys are safe. Send them over here. We'll come out and they can come aboard."

Michael watched as the CIA agent conversed with the militia leader. Then with a wave of his hand, the major called for the Malloys to be brought over.

It looked like Aiden had taken a pounding; blood was caked the whole side of his face. Sorcha was terrified, clutching onto her father's arm tightly and stumbling as she walked. Kenny's face was flushed and he moved stiffly, obviously furious at the treatment his family had received, but also sick with worry that they were all about to be killed.

"You'll let them all go," Michael called out.

"You have my word, Westen. Now, get out here."

Michael slowly began to descend the steps, his hands raised and his eyes fixed on the CIA team leader. Behind him he could hear either Jesse or Sam he guessed getting ready to come out behind him.

What happened next took everybody by surprise.

The old man seemed to trip and stumble. The guard at his side reached to hold him up and then staggered back, blood blossoming from the hole in his chest. The loud crack of the second shot alerted everybody to what was happening and the guard next to Sorcha fell to the ground. A third and fourth shots saw Kenny free of the men holding his arms.

"_GO!_" The old man roared, firing another shot.

By now both the militia and Reid's CIA tactical team had got over the shock. They had all expected any attack to come from Michael Westen and his team, not a confused old man who could barely stand.

"Da!" Kenny tried to grab at his father's arm, but was driven back as bullets flew all around them.

In desperation, Kenny picked up one of the fallen men's guns and, in an effort to help protect Sorcha, he began firing.

Chaos reigned on the airfield as bullets flew in all directions. Michael had caught the rifle that Fiona thrown down to him and was soon joined by the rest of his team as they fought their way over to help the Irish family.

"C'mon! We have to get back aboard. Inez is turning the plane around."

More bullets came and a familiar voice calling out had Michael turning away to help Jesse pull Sam to his feet, the ex-SEAL's right arm hanging useless and bloody. Soon they were going to be over run as shots came at them from all directions. The only good thing was nobody had shot at the plane, but how long that piece of luck would hold was anybody's guess.

Keeping close and keeping up a steady stream of fire, they fought their way back to the aircraft. Inez had managed to manoeuvre around for a clear take off. Kenny and Sorcha were at the top of the steps when the girl let out a cry.

There was nothing any of them could do as Aiden turned from the group, holding a lit grenade in his hand.

"Get inside!" Fiona pushed the Irish couple until they fell into the aircraft. She knew what was about to happen and prayed they would all survive the upcoming explosion.

But he didn't throw it. He knew there was a risk that they would manage to throw it aside. So he thought of his home, his real home on the dark grey streets of Belfast, of the soft rain that fell as a mist and the smell of Guinness and cigarettes. He thought of his beloved Cassie, of his guilt at not being able to save her, his regret of taking his only child away from his home and of leaving his best friend to die in custody.

His body riddled with bullet holes, Aiden Malloy managed to reach the CIA command truck just as the grenade exploded.


	7. Friends & Family

**_Disclaimer: The song, It's different for girls, is the property of singer/songwriter Joe Jackson. _  
**

**AIDEN.**

******A/N: _Thank you everybody who has left a review I appreciate all your comments. A special thanks to the wonderful Jedi Skysinger for managing to fit in BETAing this chapter during her very busy RL. Also thanks to the Awesome Amanda Hawthorn & DaisyDay whose daily e-mails bring a smile to my face._**

**Chapter Seven**_**, Friends & Family.**_

The aircraft wavered dangerously as the wings dipped side to side, tossing the passengers inside first one way and then the other, as the pilot used every bit of her skill to regain control. There was a brief moment when the engines tried to stall, but then they were airborne, rising up and away from the scene of utter devastation below.

Jesse peered out of one of the small windows and let out a long low whistle. "There must have been some serious C4 in that van."

There was only a large smoking hole to show where the CIA command vehicle had been. One of the militia's Jeeps was on fire and the ground was littered with the dead and wounded. While it gave him no joy at all to see the damage Aiden Malloy's sacrifice had done to the San Miguelito militia and the CIA team sent to capture or more likely kill them, he was nonetheless pleased not to be in handcuffs or a body bag.

Wiping a hand over his bristle-covered head, Jesse turned away to look at where Michael and Fiona were working on Sam. The older man's arm was a mess. It looked like a bullet caught him just below the shoulder joint.

On the other side of the fuselage, Kenny Malloy sat holding his nearly hysterical daughter in his arms. From her reaction, Jesse guessed the Malloy's had kept this youngest member of the family in the dark about all the violence of their past.

"Jesse, go check in with Inez and find out if we can do anything to help her out of this mess," Michael called out as he held his best friend still while Fiona was busy digging into Sam's arm looking for any bullet fragments left behind.

"I'm on it," Jesse answered, moving swiftly to the front of the aircraft.

"What happened out there?" As soon as he stepped into the small cockpit, Inez Valdes had turned to look at him, her eyes wide with concern.

"Ah, the old guy, Aiden he - - er he had a grenade, and to save us he -" Jesse, stopped when he saw tears well up in the woman's eyes as she realized what he was trying to say.

"Kenny, oh god, how's Kenny? And Sorcha?"

"_Not good_, but don't sweat it, we got this. Fiona'll be back there with him. She's patching up Sam's arm now. He took one in the shoulder."

"I should -" Inez turned back to reading her instruments. "I need to find a place to land, we -"

"Hey, hey." Jesse was at her side, his hand on her shoulder. "Stopping would be very bad for our health. No, no, no, no, no, we _have_ to keep going. There's gonna be hell to pay for this and _you're_ the only one who can get us all outta here alive."

Gulping, Inez looked up at him and he did his best to reassure her. "I know we just met and all, but believe me when I tell you that Kenny and Sorcha are gonna be just fine unless you _don't_ get on that radio and find us someone to cover our tracks all the way back to Miami."

Wiping away the tears Inez nodded and after taking a deep breath reached for the dial on the radio.

"I'll call a friend. I helped get his son and his family to the States; it was our first run... He works in the control tower near the border with Columbia. He can hide our signal."

"Columbia? Isn't that sort of out of our way?"

"Si, yes, but they will be expecting us to make a run straight for the north. So if I take us south and to the west, it may fool them."

"Sweet! See, this is why we need you up here." He smiled and patted her back. "I'm gonna go back now and see how Kenny is ... You need anything, just give me a shout out."

_**()**_

Sam slept, his body slumped his head lolling to the side as he recovered from the effects of Fiona's makeshift surgery. His arm was now free of bullet fragments and had been sewn back up by. Wrapped in a layer of padded gauze and a thick bandage, it was protected from unnecessary movement in a sling.

While Fiona was sat with the Malloys, offering up her condolences, Michael was busy worrying if the bullet had done any permanent damage to Sam's arm. It had gone in close to the joint and, though it appeared to have missed the ligaments, it still may have managed to destroy some of the nerves. Until Sam came around, they wouldn't know for sure. He glanced into the plane's medical kit and grimaced, his friend was going to be in a world of pain when he woke up and they had nothing more than a few Tylelnol to give him for it.

"Well, the lady pilot is shook up, but she's gotta a plan to get us home." Jesse stepped over to stand next to him. "We're gonna detour through Columbia and then double back. She's gotta a buddy whose gonna help cover our tracks. It might take a bit longer, but she thinks she can get us in under the radar."

Michael nodded and then without warning a wave of dizziness made him weak kneed and, if it hadn't been for Jesse, he would have fallen. The younger man caught his arm and steadied him.

"Whoa, whoa, Mike, you should get some rest, man. It's gonna be a long flight and we've got nothing to do til we land."

"Yeah, I think I might," Michael agreed reluctantly. "Just for a while... I'll watch Sam, you go keep an eye on Fiona and the Malloy's." As he eased himself down, Michael threw a look over to Kenny and Fiona. "Where the hell did that old coot get a grenade from, anyway?"

"I dunno, I mean, they musta searched him, right?" Jesse shrugged. "Maybe they thought he was just a bat shit crazy old fart."

"Yeah, well, that old man just killed a lot of people. I could have-"

"No, no, man, you're blowing your own smoke if you think you were gonna talk those farm boys into letting Kenny's family go. And even if you had it wouldn't have done any good, cuz those militia guys would've killed them as soon as we were gone."

Sighing, Michael rubbed his eyes. He hated to admit it, but he was wiped out. "Killing Card's team is going to bring a lot more heat down on us. When we get back we all need to contact friends or family and tell 'em to get out of town for a while."

Jesse gazed down at Sam's pale complexion and haggard features. "I can't see Sam's squeeze not putting up a fight... He was just saying on the flight down he'd told her he was giving up all this CIA crap once we got the guy that killed Nate."

"I told Fiona the same thing," Michael admitted. "But at the moment they're hunting us and Elsa has a lot to lose."

But what Michael didn't know was that Elsa was very pro-active in protecting what she thought of as hers.

_**The Women Left Behind.**_

_**Elsa**_

Elsa was trying to keep busy, but it wasn't easy. Sitting at her desk staring at the pile of paperwork that according to her P.A all required her urgent attention, her mind refused to work on anything other than why Sam Axe hadn't called her in over sixty hours.

Three days ago, her boyfriend had swept into their penthouse suite like a whirlwind, grabbing up what he called his "go bag".

"Sam?" she'd called out to attract his attention as he raced around the suite with a harried expression on his face, dragging his bulletproof vest out from the back of the closet and searching for his "lucky" pen knife which had gotten him out of so many sticky situations.

"I'll be back soon, pumpkin. I'm sorry I can't tell you where I'm going. You know the deal." He had barely looked at her as he stuffed these last items into the bag.

At the time, she hadn't been too concerned. She was becoming used to these sudden departures which he couldn't tell her anything about. Besides she had been busy preparing for a conference call with business partners in Dubai, so she had been a little distracted herself.

"But when I get back, I want to sit down and talk to you about something, something real important." he had added in a rush as he straightened up.

"Important?" That one word had gotten her full attention. She'd risen from her seat and crossed the room to lean in against him and kiss his bottom lip. "I can't wait. How about a little clue?" she'd teased.

Instead of replying, he had wrapped her up in his arms and held her close against his chest. The long deep kiss that followed left her so breathless her legs had actually quivered when he'd released her.

"If things go right, this will be the last time I have to leave you like this... That's all I'm gonna say for now. Be seeing ya soon, baby." And with that, he had marched out of the suite and into the elevator.

That had been three days ago and now she was beginning to worry. Ever since his near death experience in the Everglades, Sam had made a point of calling her first thing in the morning and the last thing at night whenever he was away. He had called late on the night he had left, sounding upbeat and confident.

"I can't tell you much, baby, but things are moving fast. I'll be home in the next coupla days. I love you."

But there had been no calls the following day. She'd told herself he was busy. But when she was turning off her beside lamp at 3am and she still hadn't heard from him, she started to worry.

Now he had failed to call for a third time.

Biting down on her bottom lip, she pushed away the stack of reports she had been going through. Drumming her long manicured nails on her desk top, she looked at her phone. It was only one day. She was being silly.

There could be lots of reasons for why he hadn't called. If something had happened to him, Michael, Fiona or Jesse would have found a way to let her know.

But the feeling of dread would not go away. Picking up the page she had been studying, she looked at the figures. But the line of numbers meant nothing to her when "her Sammy" might be laying injured or dead in some foreign hell hole.

It was no good. She couldn't sit there and wait any longer. Snatching up the handset, she put a call through to Sam's cell. Her heart sank when it went straight to voice-mail. She tried Michael's number and got the same result. She didn't have numbers for Fiona or Jesse or for the CIA agent who was in charge of sending them off on whatever dangerous mission they were working. Besides, legally she knew she had no rights to know anything about what Sam did when in the employ of the CIA. They weren't married or even officially living together.

Dropping the phone back onto the cradle, she tried to get back to work, all the while trying to convince herself that her worries were groundless. But the feeling in her gut was only getting worse. She'd felt the same way when her husband had first started complaining about feeling ill and more recently when she had asked Sam to talk to Evan about the stolen bracelet.

She was sure of it; something was wrong. Forgetting about the paperwork, she thought about what little Sam had been able to tell her of his recent activities, it wasn't much. They had been searching for the man who killed Michael's brother. The FBI had no leads and, even though they had managed to find the killer's name, the trail had quickly gone cold. But then out of the blue, Michael had a fresh lead which was sending them all off to God only knew where.

Massaging her temples, Elsa reached a decision. If Sam was in danger, she couldn't sit idly by and wait for a call from one of his friends. She had her own friends, powerful friends, and, for the very first time in her life, she was going to ask a few of them to use their influence to get her the answers she needed. Picking up her phone, she scrolled through the contacts list until she found the name she was looking for.

"Good afternoon, Congressman Cowley's office, and how may the Congressman help you?" the voice of a cheerful young P.A. sang out a greeting.

"Good afternoon, please tell the Congressman that Mrs. Elsa Hartley would like a private word with him."

With her fingernails tapping impatiently on her desk, she waited for the Head of the Intelligence Oversight Committee to pick up his phone.

_**Ruth**_

Mrs. Ruth Westen pulled her silver Honda Civic rental car over to the side of the road. She was still two blocks away from her destination, but before she faced Madeline Westen, she needed to settle her nerves and pull herself together. Sitting up straight with her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles had turned white, she took several deep cleansing breaths, while behind her black sunglasses her eyes were filling with tears.

When she had first made the decision to make this trip, she had promised herself that she would be strong and, regardless of how people looked at her or spoke to her, she would not break and here she was about to ball her eyes out because of a few lyrics in an ancient song playing on the radio.

_What the hell is wrong with you tonight?  
I can't seem to say or do the right thing  
Wanted to be sure you're feeling right  
Wanted to be sure we want the same thing _

She would never forget that night. That night she finally told Nate Westen she couldn't take any more.

He had been gone for two days, but it hadn't stopped his loser friends turning up at her door at all hours, pushing their way inside,and leaving their ill-gotten gains in her spare bedroom. Nor had it stopped all the phone calls from the people he owed money to and their nasty veiled threats to harm him, her or their child if they didn't get paid.

Two days gone and then he had just breezed through the door with his face all beaten up and stinking of cheap booze, acting as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"I know, I know. I shoulda called, but hey, I couldn't get away, babe." His crooked smile and infectious good mood put a stop to all her recriminations.

"I've got it all sorted out, Ruthie." He grinned at her, pulling her into a tight embrace. "I'm just gonna change inta something a bit smarter an' then I'll go square things with Luther. Everything is gonna be different from now on, I promise."

She had slammed a plate of spaghetti bolognese down in front of him, her mouth set in a thin straight line, her eyes tear-filled and hostile. She had heard it all before. She had lost count of the times he had made the same promises only for him to break his word days later.

"What the hell, Ruthie? I've gotta go out in half an hour. I got no time to change again."

"When you go out, are you taking that stuff your friend Jimmy dropped off this afternoon?" Gone was the happy care-free woman she had been up to the fourth month of her pregnancy. All through the remainder of the pregnancy, Charlie's birth and especially after their move to Miami, she had slowly been morphing into a carbon copy of her own mother.

"That _stuff_, as you call it, is paying the next two months rent, baby. All we have to do is store it for a week or two. I mean, it's what you want, isn't it? A roof over our heads and enough cash to pay for your next pedicure?"

His words had stung and the tears had started. She had been determined not to cry in front of him, but she'd been unable to contain her misery.

Looking back, it seemed all she did in the last weeks of her time in Miami was cry.

"Hey, hey, babe." He'd jumped to his feet and wrapped her in his arms, kissing her cheek, kissing the tears away. "I am so sorry. I just thought you wanted – you said you needed to feel safe, that we weren't going to lose this place like we lost the one in Vegas." He'd crushed her against his chest. "I'm trying, Ruthie. I'll get Jimmy to come over and pick his stuff up later tonight, I promise."

When she shut her eyes, she could still feel his warmth, the touch of his hands, the softness of his lips. She wished the song would end, because she didn't have the strength to reach for the dial to switch it off.

_She said - I can't believe it  
You can't - possibly mean it  
Don't we - all want the same thing  
Don't we  
Well who said anything about love  
No not love she said  
Don't you know that it's different for girls  
Don't give me love  
No not love she said  
Don't you know that it's different for girls  
You're all the same_

His friends had started calling around not long after they settled into their Miami home and now they didn't even stop to ask if they could leave their ill-gotten gains. They just barged inside and left their stolen goods in the spare bedroom and he expected her just to go along with it.

"It's easy money, Ruthie. It helps pay the bills. It not hurting anyone. Just let it go, babe."

She had stopped sleeping at night. Instead she would lay awake, terrified the police were going to break down her door at any moment and arrest them all and take Charlie away.

But every time she complained, he had managed to break through her resolve. One look into his soulful puppy dog eyes and earnest expression and she was done for.

Swiping at her eyes, she reminded herself that she would never see that or any other of his expressions ever again. Thanks to his big brother, Nate was gone, killed doing a job that "super spy big bro," Michael Westen, should have been doing by himself.

He had cupped her chin, raising her face so they could gaze into each other's eyes. "I love you, Ruthie. I'm doing this for us, for Charlie. I just need to raise a bit more cash, that's all. Jimmy said he knows about a sure thing. Come next week, we'll be flush. We'll take a trip to Tampa if you like. A few days in Tampa would be nice, wouldn't it?"

Taking a deep breath, she'd stepped away. She remembered how hollow her voice had sounded when she had spoken. "I want a divorce."

"What?!"

"I want a divorce. I can't do this anymore. My mom was right; we rushed things and now we're paying the price."

"But –," he'd sounded so lost and hurt.

"No, you're not going to talk me out of it. This isn't working. I don't want to live like this. I don't want Charlie growing up thinking this is normal."

"What the hell, Ruthie? What's the hell's wrong with you tonight? I can never do or say the right thing for you." His hands gripped her shoulders as he stared into her eyes. "I thought we wanted the same thing. Can't you see I'm trying my best?"

She'd turned away, twisting out of his grip. "Well, it's not enough." she'd answered quietly before hurrying from the room, picking up bits of clothing along the way.

He'd followed her, trying to stop her. "Sweetheart, Ruthie, baby. I'll get rid of the stuff tonight, I promise. Don't leave me."

"I don't believe you, you don't mean it. You'll get rid of this load, but the bedroom will be full again next week. What about when Charlie is old enough to know what's going on?"

"I love you, Ruth. Don't do this," he begged. Standing in the middle of the room, he looked so lost and broken.

But once she had started, she just couldn't stop herself. "Don't you talk to me about love. If you loved us, you wouldn't have gambled away your business and our home. We wouldn't have stolen TV's and computers in the house and I wouldn't be dodging calls from all the people you owe money to. Call me when you've straighten yourself out and gotten rid of all your loser friends."

She'd stormed out with Charlie in one arm and a suitcase in the other, slamming the door behind her.

Nate had followed her out into the street. He had tried to block the driveway, leaning on the hood of the car and screaming for her to give him another chance. He had only given up when Charlie began to howl in fear at all the noise. Standing aside, he had stayed in her rear view mirror until she'd turned a corner.

It hadn't ended there, of course. There were all the phone calls and messages. She wasn't the only one who had run home to their mother. Along with Nate's calls and messages, her voicemail had also been filled with messages from Madeline Westen, too.

"_Nate's sorry."_

"_How could you leave so suddenly?"_

"_If you just took the time to tell him what he's done wrong."_

"_Maybe you could both visit a counsellor together."_

The advice had been endless and in the end she had just started screening her calls and deleting the voicemails without listening to them. By the time she had reached Las Vegas and arranged to get her old job back, she had worked out what had gone wrong.

It was true they had loved each other, but love on its own wasn't enough. Besides, his idea of love had turned out to be nothing more than good intentions. He never _meant_ to lose his limo business, their house, or end up in thousands of dollars of debt. He hadn't _meant_ to miss the birth of their son or gamble away her grandmother's jewellery but he did and the other things she chose not to think about.

She knew he loved both her and Charlie and he would have died for them, but he would also have let them live in squalor and go hungry so he could feed his addiction.

No, love was different for her. Love meant safety and thinking of others. Love was about protecting and nurturing. She would give her life for her son. She would keep him safe and away from harm and that meant she had _no choice_ but to leave Nate.

Then came the final straw. She had been getting ready to drop Charlie off at the sitters so she could get to work and that was when she had seen her brother in law's girlfriend on TV being arrested for bombing the British consulate in Miami.

She had decided there and then, along with everything else in their crazy life, she needed to restore order to the chaos. She wasn't like them; she would never be like them. Nate, Michael, his terrorist girlfriend and their chain smoking abomination of a mother, they were all the same. Any thought of returning to Miami and reconciling died that day.

The song was over and she sighed, straightening up in her seat. She was on her way to visit that chain smoking abomination in her own nicotine stinking lair. The woman had not exactly banned her from her own estranged husband's funeral, but she had made it very clear she wasn't welcome. So to keep the peace, she had stayed away. But Madeline Westen had things that belonged to her and Charlie. This time she was _not_ going to be driven away.

_**Madeline & Ruth**_

Parking on the street outside the Westen family home, Ruth left the car and, with her long blonde hair swaying in a high pony tail, made her way up the steps to her mother in law's front door. Setting her jaw and straightening her shoulders, she rapped sharply on the wooden door.

After a full minute of hanging around without an answer, Ruth huffed and took a long narrow eyed look at the Blue Caddy sitting in the driveway.

"_This is just typical of Madeline Westen."_ This time Ruth hammered on the door. "_Well, I haven't traveled all the way from Vegas to Miami to be left standing on some old lady's doorstep."_

She was just drawing her pedicured foot back to deliver a hard kick when the door swung open and the Matriarch of the Westen family came into view.

Ruth was taken aback. This wasn't the woman she'd seen the last time she had been at the house. All the make-up, the large plastic earrings and the bright garish clothing were gone. The intense piercing eyes were dull and the spiky bottle blond hair was flat and, by the looks of it, Madeline Westen was in dire need of getting her roots done. Some things however didn't change; the house absolutely stank of nicotine. Doing her best to hide her loathing and a desire to gag, Ruth pasted on her patented Las Vegas casino workers smile.

"Mrs. Westen."

"What do you want?" Madeline's voice sounded as dull and listless as her appearance.

Ruth's steadfast resolve began to slip at the sight of the broken woman before her. She had planned to be strong. She had been determined not to take any of Madeline Westen's snide remarks and false charm, but she had not prepared herself for this.

"I've come to collect the stuff from the house – from N-Nate's. I wanted some of Nate's personal effects for Charlie."

At the mention of Charlie, a small spark of light came to Madeline's eyes and she looked around Ruth to peer at the car parked on the road and the small dark haired boy sitting in the back.

"Come in. All his effects are all boxed up. I'll have to get them out of the garage."

She did not want to go into that house and she definitely wasn't going to let Charlie be exposed to the haze of smoke that was actually trailing out of the door past her like a bank of fog. However, her heart did go out to the elderly woman stood before her.

This was something she hadn't prepared for; she was actually feeling pity for the woman who had helped to make the last two years of her life an utter misery.

"Can we sit in the yard?"

Madeline didn't even bother with a snarky comment, but just nodded and tilted her head. "Go through the gate. I'll bring out some iced tea... Are you okay with iced tea?"

"_Ahh, there it is,"_ Ruth thought. _"Mama Westen's first dig of the day about my allergies"_

Instead of snapping back, she took a breath and widened her smile even further. "That'll be amaz-. That would be great... Thank you."

Ruth sat down on the step which led up to the kitchen door while Charlie toddled around in circles, squealing in excitement at being allowed of the car. Hearing the kitchen door open, Ruth got to her feet and took the tray of drinks off the older woman and was also grateful to see she had brought out a sippy cup filled with juice for Charlie.

The two women sat side by side on the steps while Charlie played on the grass in front of them. Ruth nervously spun her fingers through her blond hair. Now she was next to the woman who had been the cause of so many of her arguments with her deceased husband, she didn't know what to say.

"I want Charlie to know about his father, to know where he came from. Family is important to me. I don't see my own Mom and Dad that often." She suddenly blurted.

_Mama always told me, save yourself  
Take a little time and find the right girl  
Then again don't end up on the shelf  
Logical advice gets you in a whirl_

There was that damn song again, reminding her how her last conversation had gone with her own mother. _"I told you that boy wasn't right for you. You went from one city full of sin to another. You need to find yourself a real man, somebody who can look after you and Charlie, before you end up on the shelf."_

"So, you're going to stay in Miami?" Madeline was using the same needy tone of voice she used whenever she would call Nate to come over to change a light bulb or to fix the one of her ancient appliances.

"God, no! No, I have no friends here and I have a job back in Vegas. – I – I'm sorry, but – ." Ruth took a deep breath.

She was doing this for Charlie, – and for Nate; he would have wanted his son to know his family. "But I was thinking that I would come to Miami maybe twice a year for you to see him – and maybe you could come visit us in Vegas. You know, if you wanted."

"That's very kind of you, Ruth," Madeline answered softly. Her fingers were twitching for a cigarette,but she was obviously doing her best to restrain the urge.

"I just think that it's well it's important he grows up knowing about his Dad." She was praying that Michael didn't want to be involved in his nephew's life. He hadn't up to now, but who knew what went through that man's head. He was after all still dating a terrorist.

"Can I ask you something?" Madeline asked and when the younger woman nodded. "Why did you leave Nate?"

"Oh – I..." She didn't want to add to this woman's pain.

"Please, I'm trying." Madeline stopped and Ruth was surprised to see tears in her eyes. "After Nate – I blamed Michael for everything," she sniffed. "But I've been speaking to – never mind. I just wondered, with Nate – ?"

Ruth watched as the older woman crumbled before her and, after a moment of hesitation, she slipped an arm around Madeline's shoulders. Then she found herself talking.

"He tried really hard in Vegas, but his limo company just couldn't compete with the big boys an – and when he missed a payment on the house, he was worried about the money he'd borrowed off you and about what Michael would say." She paused and took a breath. "I didn't find out until he came back here to tell you about the pregnancy. One of my friends came by the house and told me Nate had been gambling again and had built up some big debts. He was still trying to win enough to pay off our loans and keep the limo when I went into labor with Charlie. I told him then he had to stop or I was leaving."

Madeline sniffed. The story was familiar, but without the angry words and fists. She closed her eyes, praying she wasn't about to hear about her baby boy laying hands on this young woman who sat at her side.

"He promised things would be better if we left Vegas. He said the temptation was too much. I didn't want to come here. I knew nobody. I hate the humidity. Until I met Nate, I'd never been out of Nevada."

She sighed. "But we made a go of it. He tried really hard. But getting work was nearly impossible and we never had enough to pay off the loans he'd taken out. Then his old friends started coming around and before long there was boxes of stolen –."

She stopped and took a breath. This was the first time she had ever spoken about what went on between her and Nate.

"That's when I went back to Vegas. I couldn't let Charlie grow up like that. You know, with a father gambling, getting drunk, and the house full of stolen goods, never knowing if we would have money enough to buy baby food or diapers." She shook her head. "I told him to come back when he straightened himself out. When I didn't hear anything for a month, I called and told him I was starting divorce proceedings."

"Did he ever, was he ever – violent? He saw a lot of that as a kid. I – "

"_No! _No, he was sweet. He always had the best of intentions," Ruth tried to reassure the older woman. "But it just wasn't enough, I guess. The last time I spoke to him, he told me he was straightening himself out; that he was working on something important with his brother and the CIA.

Ruth sighed again. "I didn't believe him. I guess I should have... I tell Charlie all the time his Daddy was a hero. He died helping to catch a bad man."

Madeline gave a soft bittersweet smile. "Thank you."

They drank their iced tea and watched Charlie toddle unsteadily about the yard in silence. Ruth had come to the house originally just to get what she wanted and then to go as quickly as possible. But she was basically a kind hearted woman and she couldn't face leaving Madeline alone with her grief.

She had no idea how her next words were going to be taken. But she thought, she had nothing to lose. "Maybe when we come to Miami – if it wasn't quite so – smoky." Ruth winced, waiting for the explosion which didn't come. "Charlie could visit with you... I don't see my Mom anymore and Nate always said how much Charlie liked visiting you."

Madeline felt a rush of joy. It caused her to gasp and her hand went to her chest as tears welled in her eyes. She had never liked Ruth and the young woman had let her know the feeling was pretty mutual. Yet here she was, offering a stupid old woman a second chance.

"Thank you. I don't have the words." Madeline wasn't use to such kindness. She went to light up another smoke, but stopped herself and instead she put them aside.

Forcing a smile, she spoke with a shaky voice. "I guess I have to make a trip to the pharmacy for some of those nicotine patches."

Now it was Ruth's turn to offer up a tentative smile. There was no way on earth she had expected things to end up this way. She got to her feet. "It's nearly time for Charlie's dinner. How about I come back tomorrow and we go through Nate's – go through the boxes then."

Charlie crawled on to his grandmother's lap, held her cheeks firmly in his little hands and planted a kiss on her lips. Madeline gasped as a warm wave of love nearly overwhelmed her. She held the little boy to her chest and breathed in his scent. It was easy to see Madeline Westen could have stayed like that forever, but after a few seconds he was wriggling to get free.

"I'll come back early tomorrow. We can spend the day together – if you like?"

"Thank you so much for this, Ruth. You don't know how much this means to me."

_**Madeline**_

Madeline watched Ruth drive away with tears in her eyes. It had taken the words of two people that previously she wouldn't have crossed the road for if they had been on fire to set her straight.

Michael's boss, Tom Card, had been so nice; only after she had blackmailed him, of course. But, still the man had been sincere in what he had told her about Michael and what he had said about why her boys were so different. It had all made so much sense. It hadn't made her feel any better, but it had given her some understanding.

And now Ruth, her baby boy's bright, bubbly, brainless ex-wife, had given her the opportunity to keep her grandson, her last little piece of Nate, in her life.

Slowly walking back into the house, she noticed for the first time the state she had allowed it to get into. Nate had been gone for six week, and the grief was still raw. Michael was off - She shook her head. She wouldn't think about what Michael was doing.

Her last words to her eldest boy had been cruel. She had seen the hurt in his eyes and she had remained cold to him, refusing to even let him hold her hand. What he was doing was dangerous in the extreme. What if he died thinking she didn't care?

Walking around the house, she opened every window and turned on every fan and, as she did, she prayed for Michael's safe return. She was being given a second chance to have Charlie in her life. If- no, _when-_ Michael came back, she would give him the same chance. She would forgive him and maybe, in time, she would be able to forgive herself too.

_**Danni**_

When Danni Pearce had taken the long flight from Miami to Mumbai, she had expected to hate her new posting. It was after all a punishment, a massive step down from being a senior field agent running covert operations to tracing counterfeit drug manufacturers with a team of fraud investigators.

However, within the first week, she was surprised to find she was falling in love with the vibrant cosmopolitan city and her co-workers were not the government drones she had believed the office would be filled with. They were as expected, tenacious pen pushers, spending eighty percent of their time seeking out fake company credentials and the remaining time ordering tactical teams to search warehouses while they stood back until the buildings were secure. However, during their downtime, they were fun loving, friendly and none of them had inquired too deeply into why she was now part of their team.

In those early days she spent a lot of her time letting them get on with the job they were obviously very good at, while she tried to get a better handle on the job by studying old case files. It hadn't taken long for her to come to the conclusion that there were not going to be any easy wins for her. For every counterfeit ring that got closed down, another one would spring up. It was definitely not a job for the high strung or easily bored and her staff reflected that.

As one week became two and so on, she fell into the team's routine. They were all housed together on the twenty second floor of the Golden Palace, a four star hotel in the main commercial district of the city. They traveled to the office space the agency rented for them near the docks every day in two minivans and in the evening they frequently met up to eat together or visit one of the many theatres or cinemas nearby. At work, they were tenacious and dedicated, but in their free time they switched off and forgot about the job and enjoyed the bright lights of Mumbai.

By the end of that first month, she was beginning to feel the move was, in fact, a good thing. She was already drinking less coffee and was sleeping more peacefully at night and, maybe the biggest change of all, with no untrustworthy spies to take up all her time, she had begun to make friends again.

On this particular morning, after her regular morning workout followed by a shower, she had taken her breakfast out onto the balcony to watch the sun slowly peek above the horizon. Opening up a two day old copy of the New York Times, she was relaxing when a familiar but totally out of place sound caught her attention.

It was the unmistakeable sound of automatic gunfire, worse still it was coming from outside her room. She froze, but only for a second before her instincts took over. She was twenty two floors up; there was no way out over the balcony. Rushing back inside her room, she grabbed her purse and slid to a stop when she saw the door handle was being tried. She looked around desperately for somewhere to hide.

Lying flat in the narrow gap between the ceiling and the top of her wardrobe, with her gun in her hand, she watched as two men armed with assault rifles burst through the door. She remained completely still as they ransacked her possessions before finally leaving. From her position, she couldn't see out into the corridor, but she could hear angry voices barking orders and the frightened cries of the hotel guests who hadn't had her training being rounded up and forced downstairs.

It had been well over a year since Mumbai had last been rocked by terrorist attacks. Now it seemed that they were starting up again.

Carefully lowering herself off the wardrobe, she started of thinking about strategy. She was going to have to go out into the hallway and try to find out what had happened to the rest of her team.

Getting into black pants and t-shirt, she slipped her feet into her sneakers and checked her gun. As she cautiously opened the door to the hall, she took a deep breath. What she would give to have that untrustworthy spy, Michael Westen and his little band of misfits, at her side now.

But in the skies over another continent thousands of miles away, Michael Westen's team had problems of their own.


	8. A Sweet Sorrow

**AIDEN.**

_******A/N: **__Thank you all for your reviews for this story, I appreciate each and every one. A special thank you as well to Jedi Skysinger and Amanda Hawthorn who read thru parts of this chapter and of course Jedi Skysinger for finding the time in her busy life to BETA my stories._

_**Chapter Eight, A Sweet Sorrow.**_

_Tom Card had tried to kill him. His training officer, the one man in the CIA he should have been able to trust with his life, was the man who had given the order which resulted in Nate's death. But Tom hadn't let it end there. No, the cold-blooded sonuvabitch had tried to kill them all._

Flexing his fingers, Michael laid his head back against the fuselage, letting the vibrations from the plane's engines run through his body, lulling his senses and calming his anger. Tom Card was all he seemed to be able to think of: _training officer, trusted friend, traitorous bastard – Dead Man._

Michael took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. It had been years since he had last felt like this. He could feel an ice cold, murderous rage building up inside of him as a variety of scenarios played out in his mind. In each one he envisioned Tom Card falling to the ground with a neat little hole in between his eyes and a great big, blood and brain splattered exit wound where the back of his head should have been.

He shifted uneasily. He needed to keep a grip on his anger and frustration – just for a little bit longer. He needed to remember he wasn't only contemplating a man's death out of vengeance; he was also doing it to protect his friends. He was going to have to face Card and get him to admit what he had done. Then, once he had the evidence – well, then he would make sure the bastard couldn't threaten his friends and family ever again.

The aircraft hit some light turbulence and the weight of Sam Axe slumping heavily against his arm broke into Michael's dark thoughts. The wounded man continued to sleep peacefully through the sudden unexpected movements of the plane. Thanks to Fiona's use of Tylenol and cheap Panamanian brandy as a sedative, the ex-SEAL was getting a pain free flight.

Carefully propping his friend back up, Michael took a moment to study Sam's arm. It was a mess. The makeshift bandage wrapped tightly around the older man's arm was already turning red, as blood soaked through the layers of padding underneath.

The bullet had fragmented when it tore its way into Sam's bicep, shredding the bulky muscle. It would probably keep his friend out of action for weeks, if not months. Swallowing down the guilt and anger, the spy added Sam's injury to the long list of things for which he was holding Tom Card responsible.

The sound of low murmuring voices coming from the cockpit got his attention and he half turned and caught sight of Kenny Malloy's back as the Irishman leaned over his girlfriend's shoulder, speaking quietly into her ear. After a moment, Michael turned his attention away from the couple; they deserved their privacy. Besides, he couldn't think of a single thing he could say to Malloy that would make things right. He had used Kenny, dragging the whole family into his quest to get back home, and he had led a crazy old man to his death.

"_Is this what you do, Michael? Use people?"_

He remembered his mother asking him that question years ago. It had been her first wake up call to what his job involved and she hadn't liked it one bit.

Pushing away thoughts of his mother, Michael turned his head slightly to check on Jesse. The tall man was lying on his side with his face turned away from where Michael sat. Unable to see the younger man's features, Michael guessed from the relaxed way the rest of his body lay that he was sleeping.

Further down the plane Fiona sat with her arms wrapped around Sorcha Malloy as the teenager slept. The girl had been nearly hysterical and she'd had every right to be so upset, forced from her bed and hopefully _just _held prisoner by the militia and Card's black ops team. She had then been caught up in a violent, bloody battle which would have made many a man tremble.

Michael bit down on his lower lip, wondering if the girl had actually witnessed her grandfather's sacrifice. He blinked away the moisture building in his eyes. He should have over-ruled Fiona's wish to involve the Malloys_. If I had just_ – He stared up at the ceiling while he took back control over his emotions.

_Fiona... _After a final swipe at his eyes, he concentrated on her, focusing on her beautiful face, her delicate chin resting on top of the young girl's head. Even looking tired and drawn, she was still the most wonderful thing in his life. He kept his eyes on her as she slept. In a few more hours, they would be back in Florida and he would leave her again.

_This is Ireland all over again_. Just like back then, he had made promises he couldn't keep and now he was compounding the similarity by sneaking away without a word of explanation or even a simple goodbye. He had no time to make her understand that being around him was too dangerous; besides, she would just laugh at him if he tried.

And if he tried to tell her she was distracting him and making him soft? Or how trying to watch over them all was causing him to make far too many mistakes? If he was ever foolhardy enough to utter those words? He managed to raise a small half smile and shook his head. She would beat the crap out of him until he saw stars. He could imagine, as he dodged and blocked the blows coming his way, how she would berate him verbally as well, reminding him forcefully that without his friends providing invaluable tactical support, he would have died at least ten times in the last six years.

The smile faded away. It was no good. He _had_ to cut himself off, force himself to see them as nothing more than assets. It was time to forget them and move on. If he was going to beat Card, he couldn't give his old mentor any sort of leverage.

He sniffed… _forget them_… he wasn't sure he could do that. He pushed away the rising misery. If things went the way he suspected, he probably wouldn't be alive long enough to miss them anyway.

Sighing, Michael let his head drop back against the side of the plane and closed his eyes, letting fatigue pull him under into a light restless sleep.

_**()()**_

Inez brought the cargo plane down to land at a small northern Florida airport where Kenny Malloy had a couple of contacts who were willing to alter a few details in the flight records to help keep their identities a secret. Between the two smugglers, they had used up every favor they had stored up over the years getting them all safely out of South American airspace. It meant that as far as anybody connected to the FAA was concerned, they were nothing more than a training flight which had originated in South Texas.

Taking the lead, Michael stepped out of the aircraft first and paused on the tarmac to take in his surroundings. The airport was little more than a single landing strip with a long, squat dirty cream-colored building and small blue roofed terminal off to one side. Seeing no sign of CIA or FBI tactical squads hiding in the long grass or in any of the brush which dotted the area, he signalled for the others to disembark.

Jesse came out next and immediately turned to help ease Sam down onto solid ground. The ex-SEAL looked terrible. The limited supply of pain medication had stopped working over an hour earlier and now he was pasty-faced and shaking, as agonizing throbbing pain shot through his damaged arm.

It hadn't helped that, because of the bloody state of his arm and clothing, he'd had to force his injured limb into an old, badly-fitting padded jacket that Fiona had found under a tarpaulin to hide it from any nosy passer-bys.

"Can you walk?" Michael asked worriedly as soon as he had seen Sam's condition.

"I'm fine, buddy," Sam had assured him grimly.

"Okay, then," Michael gestured with a nod of his head for Jesse to keep an eye on the older man. "Where to?" He directed this comment to Inez, as Kenny had hurried away as soon as his feet had hit the ground.

"Kenny has to go clear things with his contacts. He'll catch up with us in a little while. Follow me. We go out through a gate at the back of the building and the security guards are going to be kept busy for the next ten minutes." Inez urged them to follow her as she clutched Sorcha's hand.

They followed their pilot across the cracked and worn tarmac until they reached the side of the drab concrete building which housed the small departure and arrival lounges. Ignoring the door which would have led them into the arrivals gate at the terminal, they continued around the side of building to an unlocked abandoned security gate. With Inez still leading the way, they slipped through to the outside and across the airport's parking lot into the back entrance of the diner.

Once inside, Michael scanned the room quickly. Ignoring the décor, he concentrated solely on the important things. With one brief flicker of his eyes, he had identified the exits and cleared the all the occupants of being potential threats.

There was two employees, one an elderly guy in the back and a middle aged waitress who barely glanced in their direction before turning back to the newspaper which lay open on the counter.

In a booth near the front window, over-looking the entrance to the airport, a young family sat eating a meal, their three small children fidgeting and making a lot of noise. At one of the four tables which were squashed into the center of the room, two elderly ladies chatted away in between mouthfuls of a large shared ice cream topped with a variety of fruit and whipped cream.

Generally speaking, neither the CIA nor the FBI employed senior citizens or sent agents out with their children in tow. So, with no immediate threats to his group, Michael pointed to a vacant table close to the kitchen and took the chair with the best view of the exits as his own.

By the time Kenny arrived, they all had cups of coffee and had managed to scrounge up enough money to get Sorcha a ham sandwich and a slice of apple pie.

"You have to eat," Fiona had coaxed the teenager. "Ya have ta be strong fer yar da."

"Am not hungry," Sorcha had pouted, wiping at her red rimmed eyes. " I cannae eat a thing."

"Sorcha, you haven't eaten since yesterday. You must try," Inez had added in rapid Spanish.

Under the watchful eyes of the two women, Sorcha had taken a small bite of her sandwich and then soon had been gulping down the food. She'd been just pushing away an empty plate as Kenny strode across the diner and slumped down in the chair next to his daughter.

"We can leave tha plane here fer a few days. Davey said thar's a fella in Georgia looking ta buy a small cargo plane. We might be able ta get rid o' it fer cash providing ya don't mind sellin' cheap." He directed his words to Inez, before turning to the rest of the group. "I'm gonna put in a call ta some relatives up north, see if we can stay with 'em fer a while, 'til we can get this sorted out. How about you folks? Ya got somewhere ta go?"

"We'll be fine, Kenny," Michael answered smoothly. "But, before you go we should make sure we have a way of contacting you... You know just in case."

"I'd prefer it if ya left us out o' whatever it is yar up ta." There was a hint of a warning in Kenny's voice.

"I – I don't want you involved. I just want a way of checking that you're all safe," Michael replied quickly. "Hopefully, you'll never hear from us again. But just in case -." He left the end of the sentence open.

"Fine," Kenny agreed grudgingly. "Thar's a payphone jus' outside. I'll make a call, find us somewhere ta stay and we can part ways."

"Sure," Michael agreed, happy that Kenny was taking care of his daughter and girlfriend. Once they were sorted out and safely out of the way, he could concentrate solely on his friends.

With that in mind, he turned his attention to Sam. The ex-SEAL looked truly terrible; blood loss and pain had left him pale and shaky. His arm was still hidden from view by the old jacket.

"Sam," Michael began to put his plan into action. "Do you have some way of contacting Elsa? You know, off the grid? I know it breaks protocol, but-"

Large, pain-filled brown eyes looked up and he frowned. "I don't want to drag Elsa into this, Mikey," Sam rasped out.

"We need some place to hole up while we come up with some way of dealing with Card and _you_ need some decent pain killers and fresh bandages." Michael pointed out blandly. "Unless you _want _to risk losing the use of that arm. It's a long way back to Miami."

"Uh-ah." Sam shook his head. "She's better off left out of it. I can suck it up. What is it a seven – eight hour drive? You'll just have to get something roomy."

"Sam, she must be worried sick." Fiona shot Michael a look filled with anger, before leaning forward so she could look at Sam eye to eye. "_If_ Card hasn't gotten to her yet, he must think she's not a threat. She'll want to know you're safe, Sam. You should call her. _You_ _don't_ have to ask her for anything. Just let her know you're still thinking about her."

Sam blinked slowly. He hated involving the love of his life, but Michel and Fiona had a point. He nodded reluctantly and glanced out to where Kenny stood talking into the payphone. "I gave her a burner. I'd made her a promise to call every day," he finished sadly as he realized he had broken his word.

"There you go. She'll be waiting to hear from you. Think how much better you'll feel after talking to her _and_ after you've had a couple of good nights' sleep," Michael encouraged with a smile.

In the back of his mind, he was remembering he had made a similar promise to call his mother. He had also promised Fiona that he was going to leave the CIA... Well, in a way he was going to keep that promise. Just not in the way he had meant to when he had said the words.

"I'll wait for Kenny to finish up and then I'll give her a call," Sam conceded with a sigh. "To be honest, a night in a decent bed would be good."

"Great," Michael enthused with a big grin.

But he was already thinking about something else. _Would Card have someone watching Sam's girlfriend? Fiona thinks not. But, yes, he would, definitely; it's what he would have done and since Card had trained him –_

"Sam, before she speaks, get her to go down the pool. It should be noisy enough down there to stop any eavesdropping and remember to keep it short, so they can't trace you."

As soon as they saw Kenny was finished with his call, Jesse helped Sam onto his feet and, with a handful of change in his pocket, both men went outside.

Michael sat back in his chair and let the tension slip from his shoulders. The first step in his plan was under way. Sam would call Elsa and ask for her help. They were less than eight miles west of Tallahassee, where Elsa had a five star hotel. He just had to hope that Elsa was more concerned than pissed about Sam's missed calls. If things went the way, he hoped he would soon be leaving his friends safe and sound in a luxury penthouse while he drove south overnight for his early morning rendezvous with his ex-training officer.

He turned his mind to the second step: weapons. _Tom Card deserved something special. _He was just running through the inventory he had stored in a lock up in Homestead when:

"Ow!" he grumbled as a sharp pointy finger suddenly jabbed into his sore side. "What's that for?" He turned his head to glare at Fiona, who was sitting next to him.

"What's up _with you_?" she demanded angrily. "We don't need to involve Elsa in any of this. We could book into a cheap motel and hole up for a couple of days."

"A motel room? Fi, really? I've barely got the cash to cover the tab on six coffees and a sandwich," Michael hissed. "How about you?"

Fiona huffed, before speaking to him as if explaining something to a small child. "Asking for her help is setting her up as a target for Card. Elsa has a lot to lose, Michael, and Sam loves her."

Michael shifted round in his chair and dropped his hands down on Fiona's thin shoulders and looked into her eyes. "I'm going to fix this, I promise. You just have to trust me. But for right now, I'm thinking about Sam. He needs a place to rest, otherwise I'm worried about what _he's_ going to lose- _If_ that wound gets infected, it could cost him his arm." He pushed down all the guilt he was feeling for shamelessly using his best friend's injury in such a way.

"I do trust you," she sighed, all the fight going out of her. As she leaned in closer, the angry pointy finger was now one of five resting softly on his chest. "It's just so many people have been hurt. I don't want to see –,"

"I know, I know." He looked over her head to where Kenny stood with one arm draped over Inez Valdes shoulder and the other hand clasping his daughter's hand. The guilt of using the Malloys was getting heavier all the time. "Maybe _you_ should go make our goodbyes. I'll wait to see what Sam has to say and then I'll go find us a car."

Fiona was half out of her chair when she stopped and sat back down facing Michael, her eyes searching his features. "We're going to do this all together. We bring down Card _together_ as a team."

"I know that, Fi." He met her gaze and managed to keep his expression neutral.

He could feel her searching his face, trying to read the intent in his eyes. He waited for her to see through the carefully schooled veneer of open honesty, but it seemed he wasn't the only one running on empty, because after a moment she leaned in and gave him a light peck on the cheek.

"Pay the bill, Michael," she sighed wearily, "I just need to write down a couple of numbers." She picked up one of the paper napkins on the table and searched through her pockets for a pen.

"Fi?"

"I'm going to give Kenny Seymour's number. He's always looking out for pilots, especially ones with their own South American contacts and I'm giving him my brother Seamus's number in case he wants a way to reach out to anybody back home."

Michael felt his heart clench. She rarely mentioned her family nowadays; it was too painful. Since Thomas O'Neill had outed him as an American spy all but her brother Sean had refused to answer her calls. Even her own mother had returned her letters asking for forgiveness and understanding unread.

"You think Seamus would help them out?" he asked softly, taking up one of her hands in both of his.

"He's a good man." She bit down on her bottom lip, as she thought about her arms dealing brother back Ireland. "Now, let me write out those numbers." She forced her mouth into a bright smile, even though her eyes were filling with moisture.

Sighing, he let go of her hand and stroked his fingers down her cheek. "Fi?"

She made him wait, while she furiously scribbled down the phone numbers for Kenny Malloy. Finally she looked up. "Don't worry Michael, I'm fine. Go pay the tab and meet me outside." She got to her feet and as she turned away, she added. "And, Michael, get something nice for Sam. It's going to be a long ride to Tallahassee with that mangled arm."

He kept his eye on her as she walked out of the diner. Even in dirt and dust covered pants and t-shirt, she was a striking woman squeezing in between the tables and chairs. Keeping watch until she was outside, and in deep conversation with Kenny, Michael slowly got to his feet and began searching through his pockets for the money to pay the bill.

Taking his time, he waited until he saw that the Malloys and Inez Valdes were walking away before heading outside himself. He was useless at saying goodbye and he still couldn't think of anything to say that would express his sorrow over Aiden Malloy's death.

By the time, he joined the others, Sam was sitting slumped on a wooden bench which gave them a view across the airport parking lot. He was still showing signs of the pain that was tearing through his arm, but there was also a stupidly happy grin gracing his features.

"Hey," Jesse called out gleefully. "Sam's old lady sure knows how to kick butt. Your man Card isn't going to know what hit him."

"Huh? Sam?" Michael closed the distance fast. _What could Elsa have possibly done that would worry Card? Didn't they realize how dangerous he was? If she had tried to get answers out of him-_

"It seems when I didn't call for two days, Elsa got sick of waiting and she contacted Bill Cowley."

Michael closed his eyes and fought to bring himself under control. Smiling through tightly clenched teeth, he finally opened his eyes. "And what did the Head of the Intelligence Oversight Committee have to say?"

"He wouldn't speak to her at first. So, she reminded him how we handed him all the intelligence which helped him keep his job. But that didn't work either." He continued to grin with pride. "So, then she told him she was going to withdraw all her financial support and influence with the voters unless he helped her find out what had happened to me."

Michael nodded. That was something to be expected. Elsa was a wealthy and influential businesswoman with a large chain of prestigious hotels. She probably had a lot of very powerful friends and it appeared now she wasn't above using that power to protect her absent boyfriend.

"Sam, what did he say? What has Cowley told her? If Card-"

"She only called him a little while ago. When I called, she thought it was because he had gotten a hold of me."

Michael let out a breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding. _He still had time to make things right._

"Hey, that's great Sam," he enthused. "So does Elsa have a place we can hole up?"

"Yeah, she's getting her people to open up the penthouse for our use at the Tallahassee Regent. There's a private elevator in the parking garage so we won't have to walk through reception, oh, and she's going to tell the staff we're her cousins from New York, which should help hide our presence."

"Okay, then," Michael answered. "I'll go get us a car. The sooner we get you out of the sun and somewhere with decent medical care the better."

He took a couple of steps away and then turned back to the group. "Fiona, you want to give me a hand?"

They walked off together side by side to search for the right car, something inconspicuous with a comfortable interior and very little in the way of security amongst the meager pickings of the airport parking lot.

"Michael?" Fiona squeaked in surprise as he took hold of her hand.

"What, Fi?" he raised an eyebrow, unwilling to explain he wanted to make the most of the time they had left.

"Nothing," she answered, obviously happy with this unusual public display of affection.

_**()()**_

Keeping within the speed limits, the journey to their hotel in Tallahassee took not quite an hour in the mid-afternoon traffic. Michael and Fiona had secured them a large dark blue minivan with a spacious interior which meant Sam could relax without the worry of being jostled by Jesse, who sat in the back seat with him.

For the whole journey, Michael drove the vehicle listening fondly to the back and forth banter of his team. He had tried to cut them out, and push down his feelings for his friends, but he had been unable to do it. They had been through so much together, it was impossible for him to regard them as disposable assets. So, he had decided to enjoy the time they had left and use it to remind himself why he was going to leave. If everything went the way he planned, Card would be dead and Fiona, Sam and Jesse would have a cast iron alibi to where they were at the time.

Following the sign posted directions to the Regent Hotel private underground parking, they stopped at the security gate and gave the names Elsa had told Sam to use. The guard handed over a sealed package, which contained a pass for the garage and four separate ones for the private elevator.

With Sam leaning heavily against Jesse, they traveled up in the fast moving elevator and, when the doors opened, they were greeted by the penthouse staff and the hotel manager.

"Good afternoon and welcome to the Regent, sir." The manager looked over the group and settled on Michael as looking like the one in charge. "My name is Harvey. I am the day manager. If you come this way, I'll -"

"Er, Harvey, my friend – Charles is feeling unwell, can you show us the bedrooms first and is there a doctor available?" Michael didn't wait for the manager to lead the way; he just pushed past and opened doors until he found a large room with a large comfortable looking bed in the center. "Here will do."

With Jesse's help, Sam made it into the room and gratefully sank down onto the soft mattress.

"Er, Mr. Jenkins, sir." Harvey trailed after the unusual group. "Ms. Dearborn instructed me to call a doctor for you. She said it was a hunting accident."

"Yes, that's right." Fiona took over dealing with the manager, edging him out of the door. "A hunting accident. So if you would like to tell the staff they can have the rest of the day off and then just send the doctor up here, we would be most grateful. Oh, and a tray of food would be nice. Anything, we're not fussy."

Finally alone, Sam gritted his teeth as Michael and Jesse eased his arm out of the old jacket. The bandage was now thick with blood and more of the red stuff caked the older man's arm, which was showing all the signs of a raging infection.

"Let's clean this up a bit before the doctor arrives," Michael suggested while trying to hide his concern.

"How about letting me lay down and waiting for some nice pain meds before you start poking around my arm," Sam grimaced.

"Nope, sorry, Sam. It's gotta be done."

_**()**_

The doctor Elsa had waiting for their call turned out to be a surgeon friend, who quickly set about making Sam comfortable and treating his bullet damaged arm. Asking the minimum of questions, he handed Fiona several bottles of pills.

"Antibiotics, anti-inflammatories and pain killers," he told her, handing over each bottle. "There's fresh dressings and bandages, too. He should be out for the next twelve hours or so. I've given him some sedation so he can rest." He paused to look around at the group of worried faces. "It must have been some _hunting_ trip."

"It was, believe me, Doctor Green." Fiona carefully placed the medication down on the table and then led him towards the door.

"Well, I'll call back tomorrow evening unless I'm needed before then. Here's my card." He handed over a small embossed white card. "If Charles takes a turn for the worst, call me, night or day."

For the rest of the evening, while Sam got some much needed sleep, Michael, Fiona and Jesse sat in the spacious lounge, snacking on the vast array of food the hotel staff had provided. By 8:00 PM, Fiona was asleep on the couch, her head resting on Michael's chest.

Looking up, Michael nodded to Jesse, who looked like he was about to fall asleep, too.

"You get some rest, I'll take first watch," Michael suggested.

"I'm fine, man. You go." Jesse yawned and stretched.

"No." Michael replied more firmly. "I'm not tired. I'll call you at one to take over."

"You sure? I mean -"

"Yeah, I'm sure, Jesse. Get some sleep. I'll put this one to bed and then I'll check on Sam."

_It was going to be now or never. By the time he finished tucking Fiona in and then checking Sam was okay, Jesse should be asleep and he would be able to sneak away. They were twenty floors up with a private elevator as the only way in. Unless one of Card's teams rappeled down onto the roof, there was no need for anybody to stand guard._

Twenty minutes later Michael stood by the elevator. Everybody was safely asleep. Nobody knew where they were. He could now only do one more thing for them all. He was sure if he dragged them along with him in his latest crusade, he would end up getting them all killed or thrown into some secret CIA facility. He knew they would hate him for leaving them behind, but if one more person he cared about died or had their life ruined because of him, he didn't think he could take it.

The elevator doors whispered open and he slowly stepped inside. He pressed the button to take him down to the ground floor when he heard the patter of fast moving feet. He stabbed the down button even harder, but he was too late and the doors were just a fraction of a second late closing.

"You trying to run out on us, Mike?" Jesse challenged, pushing the older man back against the far wall with an arm across the chest as the elevator started its descent.


	9. Judas Goat

**AIDEN.**

**A/N: _Thank you for all your wonderful reviews, I know I say it every time but they really do mean a lot to me. Thanks also go out to Amanda Hawthorn DaisyDay & Jedi Skysinger for being such wonderful friends._  
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**_Now for some extra A/Ns.  
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**_First a little reminder that this is an AU story that split away from canon around S6 Eps10/11.  
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_**And Secondly, this chapter mentions a female OC belonging to Jedi Skysinger, she appears in "Asset Management" and guest stars in another one of my stories called "Savior." **_

_**For those of you who have not read either story, all you need to know is the character Rayna Kopec was a CIA Station Chief, a 'friend' of Sam Axe and was also in charge of several missions Larry Sizemore & Michael ran in Russia, Serbia, & Chechnya**_**.**

_******Thanks as always to Jedi Skysinger for her BETA of this chapter.**_

_**Chapter Nine, A Judas Goat.**_

"You trying to run out on us, Mike?"

Even though he had been taken by surprise by Jesse's sudden appearance, Michael didn't fight against the muscular forearm pressing against his chest. Instead he stared calmly back into Jesse's angry brown eyes as the younger man continued to rant.

"Cuz if you are, man, I don't know whether to beat the crap outta ya myself or stand back and watch Fi do it!"

"Let go, Jesse," Michael spoke softly, his tone sounding strangely detached even to his own ears.

He guessed it was because he was already mentally cutting himself off from his friends that he found it so easy to treat Jesse's interruption as nothing more than an irritation. He had a sole purpose, a clear target in his sights and everything else was background noise. He grimaced slightly as Jesse leaned in, digging his elbow further into his shoulder.

"_Let you go_? After all we've been through, you think I'm just gonna let you just take off on your own? To do what exactly?"

"Tom Card killed my brother. He _has_ to pay for that." Michael was past anger. This wasn't going to be a fight Jesse could win.

"Dammit, Mike," Jesse backed off, but only far enough to hit the stop button, bringing the elevator to a halt. "Card will get his; Sam's old lady has sicced Cowley on him. He's gonna pay."

Michael laughed at Jesse's naivety. "How do you see this ending, Jesse?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" The younger man held up a hand warily. Even though Michael hadn't moved, there was an aura of barely suppressed violence about him that was scary, especially in such a relatively tiny enclosure.

"Elsa… going to the Head of the IOC. Do you _really_ think Card will let that stand?"

Jesse let out a slow breath and ran his hands up over his stubble covered head as he paced back and forth in the small space. Making sure he stayed out of arms reach of the far too calm older man.

"It's not only Elsa. It's all of you," Michael continued softly. "Come on, Jesse, you used to be counter intelligence. You should know this stuff. How do you see this ending, honestly? Stop thinking about how you _want_ this to end and start thinking about _what_ has to be done if _any_ of you are going to get out of this alive."

Michael watched the younger man features change as the realization began to sink in. He could read the look of shock and horror on his friend's face as Jesse came to the same conclusion he had shortly after he had learned of Tom Card's involvement.

"No, _NO! _uh-huh." Jesse shook his head as he thought through what Michael was saying. If Tom Card had the clearance to order a jet to make a bombing run and to send out whole black ops teams to do his bidding, he could easily use misdirection and most likely fake reports to justify his actions painting them all as the bad guys.

"We just need to take a minute and think this through... We – we should go back to the suite, wake up Fiona -"

"Not going to happen, Jess." Time was passing and Michael was getting impatient. His brother's killer was eight hours away and, if he missed him in the early morning, he would have to hide out until Card returned to his hotel room in the evening.

"You're talking about killing a man." Jesse snapped. "And you expect me to just let you go ahead and do it? You're crazy."

"So what do you suggest? Because I'm leaving, Jesse, and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop me." Michael took a step away from the wall.

For months now that dark part of his soul, which had allowed him to do some very bad things for good reasons, had been growing stronger. He had already come to terms with hurting Jesse in order to save the younger man's life.

_Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. Just like jerking a kid back by their arm to stop them running out in to traffic. You might have to put a friend into a choke hold to stop them ruining your plans to save their life._

"Hey! Hey! Wait a damn minute, here." Jesse remained guarding the control panel. As far as he was concerned, they could stay there all night if it stopped his friend doing something so rash as killing a CIA agent in cold blood. Sucking in a deep breath, he desperately tried to come up with a plan that would satisfy Michael's need for justice and yet not have his friend commit capital murder.

"Times up, Jesse. Step outta the way."

"No, wait, look, you could kick my ass or – or you can hear me out. But you can't do both and I guarantee you will want to hear what I've gotta say."

Michael paused. Maybe he wasn't quite ready to seriously hurt his friend, at least not unless he was given no choice.

"Fine, but make it quick." Michael glared.

"How about instead of shooting the sonuvabitch, you wear a wire? You'd still get to have your face to face, but without the bullets and all the fun of a nationwide manhunt afterwards. If you could get him to admit what he had done -"

Michael shook his head sadly. He had already thought of that. "When I see Card, there's no way he'll let me walk away. Sneaking through his defences is one thing, but getting out clean once I've been exposed…" He shook his head. "It won't work."

"Then let me come along as back up. As soon as Card incriminates himself, I'll take the recording straight to Cowley. You get the sonuvabitch to admit what he's done and it will be him going to jail instead of you. Think about it, man."

Michael thought about it. The plan did have merit. They had some listening equipment in the storage unit at Homestead. But it meant taking Jesse with him to Miami.

"Okay, you can tag along. But let's make it clear. When I get the evidence, you don't hang around waiting for me. You take it and then you leave."

"Fiona could -"

"No. Somebody has to stay to look after Sam... Oh and one more thing, I'm not letting anybody else die over this. So, if we do this, it gets done _my_ way. You do what I say without asking any questions _or_ I _will_ knock you out and leave you behind."

"Sounds reasonable," Jesse commented, as he turned to start the elevator moving again. "So, let's go do something stupidly reckless and try not to get killed while doing it."

_**()**_

"So, where are we going? DC?" Jesse settled himself in the driver's seat of the minivan they had used to get them from the airport.

"Miami. Card will stay in Miami until he knows we're all dead. He always stays at the Eden Roc. We go there, find his room number and then find you a perch to act as lookout."

"How about giving Sam's girlfriend a call. She could –,"

"We're not calling anybody." Michael smiled at Jesse. He knew exactly what the younger man was trying to do and it wasn't going to work. There would be no phone calls and, just to make sure, he would have to keep a close eye on his friend at any rest stops along the way. "Just drive," he added.

"You're the boss," Jesse answered as he twisted the ignition wires together and the engine sprung to life.

"Yes, I am," Michael agreed, still smiling.

Driving out of the private parking garage and into the evening traffic, Jesse headed towards Interstate 10. Even obeying all the traffics laws, it wasn't long until they were onto the interstate and picking up speed.

"So, which way do ya wanna go?" Jesse asked. "I-75 is a straight shot, but once we hit the Turnpike, we're gonna get picked up on every plate cam at every toll gate and I'm sure someone's reported this bad boy stolen by now. Plus, if your man Card is as paranoid as you say, then he's probably got a standing BOLO out on us with FHP and FDLE."

"Just drive, Jesse, or pull over and get out." Michael replied coolly, the smile slipping away.

As much as he hated it, Jesse was right. They needed to ditch the minivan and they needed to find transportation they could be sure wouldn't be missed until morning. Michael knew he couldn't risk getting arrested now on something as mundane as grand theft auto. Fortunately, he knew just the place to find what he needed; unfortunately, that place happened to be in Jacksonville.

"Hey, you should be nice to the driver. So, do you have a plan on how we're going to sneak past Card's security? Or are you just, you know, gonna do the whole Michael Westen thing?"

Michael fixed the younger man with a hard stare. "We go to the hotel, I find Card's room number. I go talk to him and afterwards you get to take the recording as evidence to whichever authority you want to."

"Great, so long as we're clear."

_**()()**_

The long, boring journey south was slowly driving Michael insane. As the night wore on and the traffic became lighter, they flew past the exit which would have taken them onto to I-75 and the most direct route south. Instead they were going to drive all the way across to Jacksonville, swap their ride and drive down the length of the f**king Florida coast line.

The plus was, once out of Duval County, the route down I-95 was mostly remote and unmonitored until they got to South Florida. But it was going to add an hour to the journey, an hour they didn't really have. If Card got out of his hotel room before they arrived, they would have to hole up for a whole day and his chance would be gone. Not only would they be dodging CIA, FBI and god only knew what other agencies, they would trying to stay hidden from a very angry and possibly vindictive Fiona Glenanne.

He couldn't sleep and sitting with nothing to do was only making things worse. If his mind wasn't filled with murderous thoughts of killing the man instrumental in the death of his brother, it was urging him to forget about everything except the woman he had left sleeping back in Tallahassee.

When they ditched the Minivan for a black Volkswagen Passat in Jacksonville, Michael took over the driving. As the younger man fell asleep spread out over the back seat of their new ride. Michael pressed his foot down hard on the gas pedal. Their weapons stash in a storage locker over in Homestead held everything he needed. Going there first would be pushing things, but without the listening device and a sniper rifle for Jesse, there was no point in the man snoring on the back seat being there.

As the sun began to peek above the horizon, Michael began to pray Tom Card didn't have any early morning meetings planned.

Michael brought the car to stop outside the storage locker just before 5.30 AM. "Let's get inside. You load up the car while I get ready."

Unlocking the padlock, both men lifted the heavy steel door and set about getting ready for their mission. Like all their emergency stashes, this one didn't only hold weapons. There was medical supplies, clothing, food and drink.

So while Michael took the time to smarten up his appearance, Jesse began to fill the trunk of the Passat with everything he thought they might possibly need. With the guns and ammunition loaded, he sorted through one of the many small boxes on one of the shelves and came up with the transmitter for the listening device.

"Here, you need to put this somewhere outta sight." He went over to where Michael was in the middle of getting ready for his confrontation with his old training officer.

Freshly shaved and now wearing a grey suit and plain white shirt, he looked ready for a business meeting. Taking the bug, he dropped the battery into the inside pocket of his jacket and then fed the lead down his jacket sleeve until the microphone appeared by his wrist. Using his watch strap to hold it in position, he checked out the result in the mirror.

"You got the receiver?" he asked without looking around as he continued to make sure the bug would remain unseen.

"Yeah, it's got a range of about three hundred meters, so I'm gonna have to be pretty close to pick up your conversation. You ready to go?"

Michael turned slowly and studied the younger man. "You can back out any time, Jesse. I won't hold it against you... If anything goes wrong, if -"

"I'm in this all the way and now we've had our special moment, can we please get going?" Jesse answered awkwardly.

"Sure." Michael's lips twitched into a small smile. He wouldn't admit it, but he was grateful for the company.

_**()**_

It was 7.00 AM when Michael Westen entered the Eden Roc Hotel. He strode confidently across the open foyer heading straight for the elevators. Dressed in his grey suit with a plain white shirt, with his hair combed and his face clean shaven, he looked like any of the other forty something year old businessmen who frequented the high class hotel.

Instead of taking one of the elevators, Michael detoured over to a side door marked as "Staff Only." After a quick check that nobody was watching, he opened the door and stepped through. Acting like he belonged there, he walked along the corridor until he reached the first unlocked empty office with a computer.

Wasting no time, he hurriedly worked his way through the computer menu until he found the hotel register. A quick check and he had Mr. Thomas Card's room details plus an extra little piece of information. Michael now knew Card had his breakfast delivered to his room every day at 7.30.

Checking his watch, Michael realized he had ten minutes to get up to the ninth floor. Leaving the office, he had to stop himself breaking into a run as he lifted his wrist up close to his mouth.

"Card is up on the ninth, room 914. You should be able to tape our conversation from down by the marina... Good luck," he added as an afterthought.

Without an earpiece, Michael couldn't hear any reply Jesse might have wanted to make. So once he was back in the lobby, he called one the elevators down and headed up to the ninth floor. Standing alone in the large mirror walled elevator, Michael's fingers twitched nervously.

_This was it._ He would atone for his part in Nate's death. He would face down the man who was the cause of the tragedy and make him pay. His hand strayed to where his SIG lay snug against the small of his back, held in place by the waist band of his pants.

Stepping out onto the ninth floor, Michael hurried down the hallway and was just in time to see a waitress close the door to what had to be Card's room and walk away. Reaching the room, Michael paused until the waitress was out of sight and then knocked loudly on the door.

Hearing footsteps, he stood slightly to one side so he would not be seen through the peep hole and, as the door began to open, Michael erupted into action. Smashing the door back onto its hinges with a powerful kick, he sent Tom Card flying backwards and onto the floor.

Stunned and lying flat on the hard marble tiled floor, Tom Card looked up at the man he had been hunting down and calmly uttered a greeting.

"Hello there," he said, as if being knocked on his butt by a highly unstable former trainee was a regular occurrence.

"Show me your hands, Tom." Michael reached back with his foot, closing the door behind him. All the while he kept his gun trained on his old mentor as the older man slowly shuffled backwards.

"Michael Westen, back from the dead." Card slowly got to his feet, keeping his hands in plain sight the whole time. "What are you going to do? Shoot me?"

Michael's eyes hardened and his mouth curled into a snarl.

"Hey! Hey! Listen to me, Michael, it was _Grey_ who killed Anson. _He_ was the one who killed your brother. _He _was the one who murdered Nate. _He_ did that." Card continued to back up until he was against the balcony's glass doors.

"You ordered him to. _You're_ responsible," Michael spat back, his gun remained unwaveringly on his target.

"_I_ never wanted Nate dead," Card answered the accusation. "_I_ would have _never_ taken that shot."

"_You_ tried to have me killed." Just standing in the same room as the man who arranged Nate's death was driving Michael insane, but he still had enough control left to hold off on shooting him.

"And that was my own personal hell. It wasn't supposed to go like that. You are like a son to me."

"You are out of your mind." Just hearing those words made him feel sick to the stomach. _Father: Frank Westen, Larry Sizemore, Tom Card, a triad of evil sons of bitches._

"No, no. Michael, can't you see? _We_ both know it is a big bad world out there. And guys like you and me: we….make….calls…. We get up in the morning and know the ends justify the means. Why do you think Anson had to go? I'll tell you why, he knew what I had going on in Yemen, in China, in Pakistan."

"You're talking about treason, Tom." The gun had dropped down to his side now, his finger outside the trigger guard. He was so tired, all the twists and turns, all the conspiracies. He hadn't stopped in six years. He just wanted it all to end. What Card had just said was enough to pass as a confession. Jesse, if he had any sense, would be on his way to Congressman Cowley's residence. _It's nearly time. This will end soon._

"Michael, it might be time for you to grow up, my friend," Card spoke softly.

"_You're not my friend!"_ The gun was back up, almost of its own volition.

"But I _was_ and I damn well _can be_ again. Do you think I am the only one who had things they didn't want Anson Fullerton to bring out into the open? We can do things, great things, _necessary_ things. You and me, working together," Card paused, trying to gauge Michael's reaction. "Clocks ticking … What do you think? Can we… can we put all this behind us? Huh? Can we move into the future?"

Card had to be insane. Michael could see no other reason why the man thought he would ever work with him again.

"_You_ tried to kill me. _You_ came after us with a goddamn missile and a full tactical team. What makes you think I want to do anything but put a bullet in to your brain? My life has been destroyed. _You killed my brother!_"

Michael thrust his gun forward and his finger whitened on the trigger. He just wanted to see his one-time friend lying on the carpet with a neat little hole between his eyes and the back of his skull blown out.

"Jesus, kid, are you really this stupid? You still think this is all on me? Do you think I _wanted_ to order Tyler Grey to take you out? I was following orders. Something you seem to have forgotten how to do."

Card suddenly turned away, turning his back on his one-time trainee. He watched Michael's reflection in the glass as the younger man tried to make sense of his prisoner's change in attitude.

"What? What are you saying? If this is just you trying to -" Michael lowered the gun and stepped in closer, making his first error and giving Card the opportunity to attack, elbowing him hard in the gut. But Michael was past any reasoning or pain. He retaliated with the butt of his gun to Card's head, knocking the older man to his knees.

"ANSWER ME!" he yelled.

After struggling to his feet, Card dropped down heavily into a comfy chair and sighed, running his hands over his head, wincing when he reached the cut caused by Michael's gun.

"They've known for years there was a clandestine organization made up of former and burned spies running off the books operations. Do have any idea how long it took to get you into place to take them down? To make you a tasty little morsel they wouldn't be able to resist?"

"You did all this? Got me burned?"

Card laughed and, if it wasn't for the gun being aimed at his head by a very unstable former asset, he would have actually found the whole situation funny. As it was, he knew he was a mere squeeze of the trigger away from death.

"No, not me. Well, not only me. I was brought into the loop when Rayna Kopec was assassinated... Please tell me you knew that was an assassination?" Card's grin grew wider and he shook his head in disbelief as he saw the look on his protege's face.

When Michael didn't answer, Card continued. "Your old boss nearly nailed them, but she made the fatal mistake of getting noticed. But she must have known they were closing in on her, because before she died, she passed everything she had gathered upstairs."

He pointed a finger at Michael to emphasise his next words. "Hey, you want to blame _anybody_ for dragging you into all this, blame her, kiddo. It was your name she passed up the line. '_Michael Westen is in the unique position to gain employment within the organization as I have reason to believe he is already being targeted for recruitment'._"

Michael shook his head in denial. He had last seen Rayna Kopec after Ireland. She had made no mention of any of this; she would have warned him. _She should have warned him, given him the choice._

"You're lying, trying to save yourself." He couldn't hide the desperation in his voice.

"You wanted the truth and this is it. You had already been targeted. You had a reputation for being a ruthless sonuvabitch and always getting the job done. The plan was to let them recruit you and wait for you to bring them down from the inside. We knew you would kick up a stink over the burn notice and go after the people who wrecked your life. All we had to do was send you in and wait for you to expose all the bad little spies. But instead of sticking to destroying the organization, you went off the reservation and, pretty soon, nobody trusted you to play the game."

Card shook his head and looked at the floor. "All you had left to do was eliminate Anson. But ya just couldn't do it, could ya? You maybe ruthless, but you're a _boy scout_ at heart."

Michael was close to breaking. If he believed Card, his own government had used him and all the people around him to bring down Anson Fullerton's organization. The enormity of it all was tearing him apart. Card looked up as he heard the hammer of Michael's gun draw back and found himself staring into the eyes of death.

"It's what you signed up for, Michael." He softened his tone. "Remember how it goes? It's all for the big picture. You sacrifice the few to save the many. How many peoples' lives have _you_ left in ruins because you deemed that they were less important than the mission? Do you think you're more important than the agency?"

"And my brother?" Michael asked in a small voice.

"He was in the wrong place, that was all. There's no larger conspiracy. If you had done what had been expected of you, he wouldn't have been there at all. All you had to do was put a bullet in that sonuvabitch and it would have all been over. You would have been welcomed back with open arms, Nate would have been alive and all your friends would have been safe instead of on the run."

The gun dropped, hanging loosely in Michael's hand as the younger man turned away, his world falling to pieces.

Slowly, Card got up out of the chair and edged towards the door. He had managed three steps before he was suddenly flung back against the wall, a forearm across his throat cutting off his air supply. Michael's face was inches from his. The younger man's expression twisted with fury, his eyes blazing with insanity.

"None of that changes the fact _Nate is dead_ and _you _tried to _kill us all!"_

"I tried to put you back on the right path, get you motivated to do the job. Now, if you're going to kill me get it done." He gulped as he heard the click of the hammer being draw back and then the cold steel of the muzzle pressed against his temple.

"You kill me and it will be the end of everything for you and everybody connected with you. Is that what you want? Or do you want to at least give your friends back their lives? How about the bald headed guy, watching your back from across the street? Hm...? You see, Michael, you aren't the only one who has a team."

For a long while, the only sound was Michael's breathing. Then as suddenly as he had attacked he backed away, letting Tom Card fall to the ground.

"I'm listening."

Righting himself, the older man straightened his tie and smoothed down his hair. "Let me bring you in."

"Let you lock me away without trial, is that what you mean? Or would it just be a bullet to the back of the head?"

"How do you see this ending, Michael, really? Work with me and I'll keep your friends out of jail. What do you say?" Card smirked, confident that he had won. "And yes, my team has been on you since you walked through the front door. See what I'm saying? We're a perfect match."

Michael's head dropped down and his shoulders slumped in defeat. With moisture filled eyes, he lifted his gaze just enough to look Card in the eye and he nodded. "Okay." His voice so soft the word was barely audible.

Tom Card beamed. "We should get started. There's a long list of things for us to do." His former training officer stood up straight with his hands on his hips, enjoying his moment of triumph.

"I'm proud of you, son."


	10. Forsaken

**AIDEN.**

**A/N: _Thank You Jedi Skysinger and Amanda Hawthorn for reading thru parts of this chapter for me and for your thoughts and ideas. You two ladies along with Daisyday help keep my days bright even in the dreary British winter. _  
**

_********__As always thanks to those of you who continue to read and review this story._

_**Chapter Ten, Forsaken.**_

Fiona's eyes fluttered open and, with a groan, she slowly sat up and looked around. A nauseating cramping pain had caused her stomach muscles to clench tightly, stirring her from a deep sleep. Sitting up, she drew her knees up and, with her arms wrapped around her torso, hunched forward until the pain passed.

Bleary eyed, she peered around the bedroom and realized for the first time she was alone. The soft goose down filled pillows next to her where Michael's head should have been laying were still plump and pristine and the space beside her was cool to the touch. Frowning, she turned to glance at the small digital clock on the bedside table which informed her it was nearly 3 AM.

_Where was he?_ Stifling another groan as her body protested at her leaving the comfort of the bed, she padded on bare feet to the door. _He had to be sitting up on guard duty. _Shaking her head, she opened the door and stepped into the unlit lounge. _They were on the top floor of a hotel with a private elevator and nobody knew they were back in Florida except for Elsa. They were, for the first time in several days, completely safe. Why was he still up?_

"Michael?" she called out in a soft low tone.

Getting no answer, she reached along the wall until her fingers skimmed over the light switch and immediately the room was bathed in light. Blinking until her vision cleared, Fiona stared about the empty room. The remains of the meal from earlier was still on the low coffee table, three empty cups, plus several empty beer bottles and their plates and cutlery all lay abandoned.

_He must be checking on Sam._

Combing her hair back off her face, she started to cross the lounge and then came to a stop when she caught sight of her appearance in one of the many wall mirrors that flanked the room. The image of lank auburn hair surrounding a pale pinched face with puffy eyes was enough to send her back to the bedroom to freshen up. But what made a retreat even more necessary was the tiny lace panties and bra she was standing about in. With an annoyed hiss, she went back to her and Michael's room to get dressed before she risked being seen by Sam or Jesse.

Wiping her face over with a damp face cloth, she brushed out her hair and then slipped back into the jeans and t-shirt she had been wearing for the last two days. Wrinkling her nose at her appearance, she made her way back out to the living area.

Quietly knocking on Sam's door, she entered without waiting for a reply. The light was out; the only sound was Sam's snoring.

"Michael?" she whispered, peering into the darkness.

Creeping forward, she did a cursory check on their injured friend. Sam was sleeping peacefully, his bullet damaged arm wrapped in clean dressings which gleamed white in the unlit room. Biting down on her lower lip, she felt a chill run up her spine.

_Where the hell was he? _Before she could come up with an answer, her stomach clenched again, making her gasp as the muscles knotted tighter than before. Massaging her sore stomach, she left Sam's room and went to check on Jesse. As far as she could remember Jesse and Michael had been talking when she had fallen asleep. _Maybe he said something to the younger man._

Reaching his room, she knocked and entered almost immediately, wearing a bright smile on her face as she prepared to explain why she was barging into his room in the early hours of the morning.

"Jesse, I'm sor- ry." She came to a halt and stared at the bed which obviously hadn't been slept in.

The only sign the room had been used was a faint ruffling of the bed covers where he must have sat down at some point and the bag he had brought with him off Inez's aircraft.

_This was bad, very bad. _Her heart began to pound in her chest. _Where had they gone?_

Leaving the door to Jesse's room wide open, she stormed back across to Sam's room and flung the door open hard enough that it hit the wall with a bang.

"Where the hell are they?" she demanded loudly.

Apart from a single cough followed by a complaining moan, Sam didn't stir, and at that moment she remembered the sedation and the strong painkillers Elsa's doctor had administered. Wherever Michael and Jesse had gone, they obviously hadn't taken the time to tell Sam.

Fiona's mind was now working furiously as she marched purposefully back into the living area and then out to the lobby and the elevator. _They had gone out, that much was obvious. But why? To get guns? To do a perimeter search? It didn't make sense._

Pressing the call button, she waited for a couple of seconds then jabbed at it even harder a second, then third time. With her arms crossed over her chest, she waited impatiently, but after a minute she'd had enough and pressed her ear up against the cold metal door; there was nothing. No whirr of cables or rumbling of an approaching car. Now there was no doubt in her mind that Michael and Jesse had sneaked away without her. _Why else would the elevator be jammed?_

Closing her eyes she paused, breathing deeply through her nose, her mouth fixed in a harsh straight line. He had deliberately jammed the elevator. He had gone off, taking only Jesse with him as back up. _What the hell are you up to, Michael? _Another sudden cramping pain left her gasping to breathe. _And not only had she been left behind, she had eaten something that had upset her stomach._

Walking slowly back into the lounge, she reached for the hotel phone and stabbed her index finger down hard on the key which would put her through to reception. Letting out a sigh, she rolled her shoulders back and forth as she tried to release some tension and compose herself.

"This is Ms. Jenkins in the penthouse. The elevator appears to be stuck." she informed the woman on the other end of the phone.

"I'm sorry Ms. Jenkins I will notify maintenance right away. I'm sorry for the inconvenience. Is there – ?"

"No, it's fine." Fiona pinched the bridge of her nose as a headache began to build. "Just get it fixed as quickly as possible."

Slamming the phone down, she stared at the desk top, her eyes narrowing as they spied a delicate glass vase. With an angry swipe of her hand, she sent it shattering onto the marble floor. _He had promised they were a team!_ A metal statue flew across the room, smashing into one of the many wall mirrors, sending even more glass shards across the floor. _The lying bastard had done it again! Left without a word. Coward! _Breathing deeply she stared at all the shattered glass; it was a clear reminder of the state her life was in. _She was going to find him and kill him slowly. She was going to make him wish he had never been born._

Returning to her room, she searched around the floor looking for her shoes. Her mind was whirling from one thought to the next, anger and frustration at him running off fighting with fear and concern for his safety. _Somewhere out there Tom Card and God only knew how many other CIA agents he had in his pocket were looking for them all._

With her shoes on, she delved into her purse and pulled out her favorite side arm. Checking the clip, she slammed it back into place and headed back to the lounge to await the call that the elevator was back in service.

Sitting and waiting wasn't helping her state of mind and pacing the floor space, her boots scrunching on all the broken glass, only made her feel worse. Throwing her purse down onto the couch, she went searching for a broom and dust pan and brush to clean up the mess she had made. She was kneeling down to sweep up the pile of broken glass into the dustpan when another cramping pain hit. She took a moment, placing a hand over the taunt muscles and rubbing at her stomach as she tried to ease the pain.

As the pain dulled, Fiona got to her feet and slowly stretched and rubbed at her back, which was also beginning to ache. _It was ridiculous, all she had had to eat was a tuna salad and it had tasted delicious. _Dropping down onto the couch, she laid her head back and tried to sort through her thoughts.

_Michael had been so angry over the betrayal by his old mentor; she knew he was no longer thinking clearly. He had been on edge, almost out of control….And, at that moment it hit her: he had gone off to kill Card. That had to be it. There was no other reason for him to sneak away._

It was like a punch to her already very sore gut. He had somehow managed to talk Jesse into going with him as his back up and left her behind to nurse maid Sam. All the old fears of abandonment began to rise, the similarity to what he had done before back in Ireland fuelling her anger. For a brief moment, she wondered if he had drugged her like he had all those years ago. But before the thought could take hold, she dismissed it. She knew what waking up from a drug induced sleep felt like and the intense cramping pains she was suffering from now were nothing like being slipped a mickey.

Swiping at her eyes, she got to her feet and, after a quick look at the clock which now showed 04:16, walked over to the kitchen. _What she needed was a good strong cup of tea. Then once she got the call that the elevator was fixed she would – _she paused, her heart dropping like a stone. She didn't have a clue where to start looking. _Damn him!_

Filling the kettle, she switched it on and then stared pensively at the pot waiting for it to bubble and boil. _If he had gone to kill Card, and if he succeeded in executing the sonuvabitch, there would be little hope for him. He would be_ _mercilessly hunted down by his own government. He needed a team backing him up. He needed __her!_

"Dammit, Michael," she sighed, grabbing a cup and then searching for the teabags. "Why d'ya take Jesse wid ya?"

_That was the twist of the knife he had driven into her heart. He had chosen to take Jesse with him when he should have chosen her._

Pouring the boiling water over the teabag, she added a large teaspoon of sugar before giving the brew a stir and tossing the teabag into the sink. With the cup in her hand, she walked slowly back to the lounge feeling miserable and trapped. Slumping down onto the couch, she sipped at the brew unable to stop the hurt continuing to grow.

_Hadn't she always been supportive? She would have gone with him; they could have run together. Why the hell did he always think she needed a white knight to keep her safe? She could take care of herself! Wasn't she the one with all the contacts? It had been a friend of her parents, a sweet old man who had enabled them to escape Panama, who had __died_ _so they could get away._

A tear trickled down her cheek and she brushed it away. She wasn't going to cry, not this time. Placing the empty cup onto the table she leaned back, letting her head tilt up so she could stare at the ceiling. _Aiden Malloy, he had been like a fixture in her parents' house for the first eight years of her life. Sweet, charming and nearly always laughing, he had taught both her and Sean how to throw a punch and that sonuvabitch Card had gotten him killed._

Fiona's eyes fluttered open and closed, just as she began to succumb to the need to sleep the trill of the phone snapped her awake. Jumping to her feet she crossed the room at a run.

"Mi-!"

"Ms, Jenkins?" Fiona's heart sunk. It was the receptionist.

"Yes?"

"Your elevator is working now, ma'am. I hope you haven't been inconvenienced too much by the delay."

"No, not at all. Thank you."

"Is there anything else –?"

"No, that's fine, thank you." She ended the call, grabbed up her purse and moved with a purpose to the elevator and couldn't travel down to the parking garage fast enough.

The last hope of chasing after him was gone, they had taken the minivan. _Well of course they had, it stopped her taking it and meant if she wanted to leave the penthouse, she was going to have to steal her own ride. Not a big problem, but it all added to widening the gap between them._

_Damn you to hell, Michael. I swear when I find ya, I'm going to kill ya meself._

It was useless to stand staring at the very secure parking garage, with all the cameras and the guard on the gate there was no way she was getting transport from there. She needed to sit down and think things through and come up with a way of catching up with the two runaways before one of them did something that would end his life and get the other a lifetime in prison.

_Don't fer one minute think you're getting outta this undamaged, Jesse Porter, I'm gonna think of sommit special fer you._

Back upstairs, the luxury of the penthouse made her feel even worse, Michael had deliberately left her trapped in a gilded cage. At least this time he hadn't drugged her. She tried to raise a small smile, but it didn't work. Somewhere out there he was walking into danger. Tom Card had trained Michael, taught him most of his spycraft. He had access to all Michael's field reports and pysche evaluations.

"_Ahh!"_

This was the worse one yet, almost dropping her to her knees. _What the hell was going on? Had Michael noticed something was wrong and that was why he had left her to babysit Sam?_

A quick glance at the clock told her it was nearly five in the morning. she had no idea where the fugitives had gone and they had to have had at least a ten hour head start. Feeling utterly drained and with her stomach still uncomfortable, she collapsed onto the couch and curled up in a ball.

_Oh, why didn't he wait to see what Elsa's call to Cowley produced. Or he should have at least taken her with him instead of Jesse…. She was better with a gun, she knew his every move... But she hadn't seen this move one coming….. She would wait for the pain to ease and then she was going to drag Sam out of his bed and…._

"Hey, sleepy head, it's lucky you were never in the military. Ya get hard time for fallin' asleep at your post."

Fiona sat bolt upright and glared at Sam Axe.

"You're up," she announced, a very small part of her was pleased to see him up on his feet and looking less like death warmed up. Another part of her was highly disturbed that she had fallen into such a deep sleep that she hadn't known he was up until he was almost on top of her.

"No fooling you, is there? Where's Mike and Jesse?" He looked around the room.

"They've gone, bailed on us," she told him as she got to her feet. "I think Michael has gone to kill Card and Jesse has gone with him," she continued. _This was good. With Sam up on his feet, he could help her find Michael._

"Jesus!" Sam sank down. "You sure?"

"Well, they're gone and they didn't bother to let either of us know. So what do _you_ think?" she snapped back, grabbing up her purse she stared angrily at him. "C'mon, Sam we have to-"

"Hey, slow down, Tinkerbell, and just let me think for a moment, will ya?... When did they leave? How much head start have they got on us?"

"I don't know, maybe twelve hours... I fell asleep." Fiona added the last bit in a quieter tone, embarrassed at her unusual lethargy.

"Twelve hours? That's not good. Mike will be back in Miami by now. In fact, he's had time to -"

"Miami? You're sure that's where they've gone? Then we need to get moving. Michael's going to need help getting out of the country and I'm going to kick his ass every inch of the way to -" Fiona was ranting again.

"Hey! Calm down. Get me the phone. I'm gonna call Elsa. I'm not up to an eight hour drive especially with you behind the wheel."

Fiona picked up the phone and as good as threw it in his direction as she paced nearby. As far as she was concerned, this was a delaying tactic. But the thought that Sam was somehow colluding with Michael to keep her out of the way was dropped almost as soon as it popped up.

Listening to Sam sweet talk the latest love of his life was enough to turn Fiona's stomach at the best of times.

"I'm going to get some air," she announced brusquely, hoping Sam hadn't noticed the sweat beading on her forehead.

Twenty minutes later, he was off the phone and standing next to her on the terrace, looking down on the busy street below.

"I've got us a ride. Elsa is getting her G6 gassed up and it's gonna collect us in two hours. All we have to do is get back to the airfield we were at yesterday. I've already called us a cab. Elsa will pick up the tab."

"Good." Fiona didn't trust herself to speak. The fresh air had helped the nausea, but her stomach still felt like she had taken a beating.

"You okay, little sis?"

"I'm fine, Sam. I must have eaten some bad tuna. Let's get ready to go. I suppose with the state you're in, you expect me to do all the heavy lifting."

Moving quickly so the older man couldn't keep up, Fiona set about gathering up all his medication and dressing before collecting their sparse belongings all together.

Just as she finished piling up everything by the elevator, the phone began to ring. "That will be the front desk to say the cab is here."

She picked up the handset and, at the first softly spoken word, she paled.

"Fiona."

"Michael?" Her own voice came out as barely more than a whisper.

"I'm alright... I'm sorry I couldn't tell you... Let you... Look, it's gonna be alright. I want you and Sam to lay low."

"Michael, what have you done? Where are you? We're on our way to Miami. We'll -" Her heart was racing, she felt both elated and scared stiff.

"No! Stay where you are, you're safe. Please, Fi, _honey_, do what I say... I'll see you soon... I promise... Bye, Fi."

"Michael!" she howled into the mouthpiece as the connection was broken.

_**()()**_

Hundreds of miles away, Jesse Porter was sat in a small, windowless room handcuffed to a sturdy rectangular table. The back of his head still ached from the blow it had taken when the two burly men dressed in cheap suits had body slammed him to the ground.

Doing his best to get comfortable while sitting in the hot, stuffy room, he prepared to play the waiting game. He had, after all, been a counter intelligence agent. He knew how the game was played. From the tight steel band around his wrist reminding him he was a prisoner, to the drab overheated room designed to weaken his spirit, he expected he would be facing hours in this room without food or water, until his captors deemed he would be ready to talk.

He wished he knew exactly what it was Michael had done. Was Card dead? It had sounded like the sonuvabitch was spinning out a tale, but he hadn't caught the end of the scene because he had spotted Frick n' Frack moving in on his position and had been forced to bail. He did however have one ace in the hole: a nice little recording of Tom Card admitting to off the book deals in Yemen, Pakistan and China. Unfortunately, he'd had to ditch the recording before being picked up. At the moment, the incriminating evidence was hidden amongst the dense foliage of one of the many shrubs that surrounded the Eden Roc hotel.

He had no way to be sure, but it must have been at least three hours after he had first been left in the room that the door swung open.

"Mister Porter, sorry to have kept you waiting." The agent was a dark skinned woman with slicked back hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She released him from the handcuffs and stood back. "Follow me."

"I'm being released?" Jesse asked as he got to his feet. This was unexpected. He tried to think what it could mean.

She laughed, but it was more sarcastic than friendly. "Not exactly. Follow me, please." She opened the door and stepped out into a narrow corridor.

"Whoa, wait a minute. I promised my mom I'd never to go off with strangers. So who are you and where are you taking me?"

"You don't need to know my name, Mister Porter, and as to where I'm taking you – I am escorting you to a briefing for your assignment."


	11. Between The Devil & The Deep Blue Sea

**AIDEN.**

_******A/N: Thank you all for the reviews for this story I know I say it every time but I really do appreciate every one. Thanks to my friends Amanda Hawthorn and Jedi Skysinger for reading through parts of this chapter and to Jedi Skysinger for managing to fit in a Beta for me during her busy schedule.**_

_**Chapter Eleven, Between The Devil and The Deep Blue Sea**_

While Jesse was sitting chained to a table in an interrogation room somewhere in Miami and Fiona was standing out on the penthouse terrace of the Tallahassee Regent hotel waiting for Sam Axe to finish sweet-talking his girlfriend, Michael Westen was standing face to face with Tom Card, resisting the urge to give the smirking bastard a third eye.

"I'm proud of you, son."

As soon as Card had said those five words, Michael's trigger finger had twitched. It was killing him, but Card was right. If he did what every fiber of his being was demanding, he would destroy the lives of everybody he cared about. He had to maintain control and find another way to take the murdering sonuvabitch down.

So instead of emptying the clip from his SIG into his old mentor, Michael forced his mouth into a toothy smile while pushing down the hate and the bloodlust which coursed through his body. Reluctantly, he engaged the safety catch and returned his weapon to the waistband of his dress pants.

"So, what now?" he asked softly, his eyes never leaving Card as the older man cautiously crossed to where his breakfast was laid out on a small table made of glass and metal.

"Come, sit and we'll talk about our future while I eat."

Michael didn't move. He wasn't sure he was capable of sitting down calmly over a table laden with food, and sharp cutlery, while discussing working with the man who had caused him so much grief.

An image of Nate's broken and bloody body swam before his eyes and his mother's hate filled accusations rang in his ears. His hand twitched again as his heart cried out for him to take revenge.

"Hey!" Card whistled shrilly. "There's no time to day dream. Take a seat and pin back your ears."

Michael flinched at the noise, but quickly pulled himself together. Now was not the time; revenge was going to have to wait. He had no doubt that Card had people standing outside the door to the room ready to take him down if he put one toe out of line. So with a tight rein on his emotions, he made his way smoothly across the room to take the seat Card gestured to.

"I won't be your mercenary, Tom. You can throw me in prison, but it won't change a damn thing."

Card reached over to pick up a croissant. "How about Porter? Are you ready to have him thrown into the cell next to you?" he asked.

His old mentor tore the pastry into three pieces and continued. "And what about your girlfriend and – the guy with the chin? Where are they, by the way? We're covering the hotel and the marina, so either they were never here or they've cut and run."

"Jesse's done nothing jail worthy and the rest of my team are – none of your business," Michael answered stiffly.

Card took his time, wiping away the crumbs from his mouth with a napkin before picking up a thin manila folder and tossing it casually across the table onto the younger man's lap.

"When you chose to involve Cowley, and I know you were behind the call that got the head of the IOC panties up in a bunch, I had this file put together."

Michael opened the folder and skimmed the report that detailed how he and his friends murdered a CIA tactical team and a Panamanian militia unit during a raid on suspected drug traffickers. There was plenty of evidence to show that he had gone rogue and was a danger to national security with the others acting as his willing accomplices.

"It was a bit of a rush job I admit, but by the time the good Congressman comes back with more questions, I'll have a nice fat dossier filled with all your misdeeds: communication logs, grainy satellite images and stacks of vague intelligence reports, which I can have point any way I chose."

"This?" Michael closed the folder and tossed it back onto the table so it landed on Tom Card's breakfast plate. "It's all a pack of lies."

"But can you prove it?" Card smirked back, wiping his scrambled eggs off the stained cardboard without missing a beat.

Michael raised his eyebrows in disbelief. _Had Card just admitted to handing falsified documents to a Congressman?_

Satisfied he had made his point, Card sat back. "I don't think of you as my mercenary, Michael. I want you to know that... I want _you_ to work _with me_... I'm even willing to make you a peace offering."

The older man waited, but Michael didn't answer.

"Agent... Dani …. Pearce," Card elaborated.

"What about her?" Michael asked warily.

"She's in a lot of trouble... You could help her, if you agree to help me with a little problem first."

"Last I heard, Agent Pearce was in Mumbai, chasing down counterfeiters."

"Yesterday evening, I got wind of an emergency meeting." He tossed another file over to Michael. "Here are the highlights. A terrorist cell has taken over three hotels in the city of Mumbai. Staying in one of those hotels was a team of CIA fraud investigators headed up by your ex-Agency contact."

Michael shook his head. "It's a sixteen hour flight; we'd never get there in time. The Indian army will get everybody out."

"There are already reports of hostages being killed in one of the hotels and I understand the Indian security services are refusing permission for us to send in a team to retrieve our people. They claim it is a strictly internal matter."

Michael bit down on his lower lip, as he realized the seriousness of the situation. If the terrorists realized they had CIA agents amongst the hostages – it didn't bear thinking about.

"There is a man in Mumbai holding valuable intelligence... I need that information. If you bring him out for me, there will be a place on the return flight for Pearce. It is up to you, Michael. Prison for you and your team and anybody else I can hang charges or you do me this tiny favor and help out the woman who nearly destroyed her own career helping you out."

Michael stared at his ex-friend and mentor, his mind rapidly weighing up his options. He knew full well that he had no way out. He had put his head in the noose as soon as he kicked down Tom Card's door. _He should have just shot the bastard and taken his chances._

Jesse's situation was in flux until he made the decision whether or not to sell his soul. _Could he let the younger man rot in a prison cell? He still didn't know if Jesse had been able to get the evidence they needed._

Sucking in a deep breath, Michael turned his thoughts to the rest of his team. Sam and Fiona were safe for now, but for how long? As soon as Fiona woke up and realized he had gone, she would come looking for him. Sam knew where Card liked to stay when in Miami and they both knew his present state of mind. So, it wouldn't take them long to work out where he had gone and come after him. He glanced at his wrist watch and bit down on his lip. _They could already be on their way back to Miami._

Closing his eyes, he took a moment before getting back on subject. Card was watching him closely. He couldn't afford to be caught day dreaming.

"So, who's this man and what does he have that's so important?" he asked.

Card sighed and pushed his chair back a little so he could straighten his legs. Michael felt uneasy as the older man stared back at him, his expression cold and calculating as he decided how much information to pass on.

"All you need to know is that until my asset is safely on board a flight to the US Agent Pearce is on her own."

"If it's just a case of getting him on a flight, why don't you –?"

"Because now I have you and Porter to go for me."

"Leave Jesse out of this. You know me. I stand more chance sneaking in and out alone. Besides, Jesse was a field agent for what? A year? He has no experience in -" _He was through dragging his friends into his fights. If he could convince Card to leave the younger man out of it –_

"No, the job requires a two man team. To be honest, it probably requires a full tactical unit, but that's not going to happen. It will be you and Porter, two burned spies acting alone. If the rescue goes all to hell, you and your friends are on your own."

Michael stared pointedly at the documents outlining the mission, hoping he could delay answering while he thought through his response. _Card couldn't have known they were back, nor that he would turn up when he did._

"You had this mission outlined before you knew I was back. So, why don't you go with your original team?"

"My original team didn't include Michael Westen. Take it as a compliment... Actually take it any way you want. Doing this job shows me you're willing to work with me and it allows you to protect your friends from a nationwide multi-agency manhunt... So what d'ya say, son?"

_There was that word again: "son." Frank Westen was dead, Larry Sizemore, too. Tom was the last of the unholy trinity of self-serving evil bastards who each had wanted their own version of what was "best" for him. His family was dead to him now. Nate was gone, his mother had as good as disowned him, so what possible use did he have for this last father figure?_

Michael pressed his back against the chair to stop him reaching for his gun and laced his fingers on his lap to prevent himself picking up a nearby butter knife and stabbing it into Card's eye.

As if he could tell what the younger man was thinking, Tom Card edged his chair further back before beginning to speak. "I know you want to fight me. It must have been hard on you to put away your gun without shooting me. I understand all that, Michael. I really do, but..."

_Blinking away the memory of Nate bleeding out on the pavement, his brother's scared eyes staring up at him, pleading with him to make it right…._

"But, deep down, I know _you _understand everything I've done is for the good of this country. I had the trigger pulled on a couple of bad guys and we no longer have to roll the dice on a coupla really bad conflicts. You know how that goes, dontcha Michael?"

_Or the look of grim determination on the face of Aiden Malloy as he forced his bullet riddled body closer the men trying to kill his family…_

Michael choked back the rising bile and managed to slowly nod his agreement. Over the years, he'd heard the same argument from Larry Sizemore, Vaughn Anderson and Anson Fullerton. Unsanctioned kills, under the table deals and, pretty soon, you thought you knew better than the government you signed up to serve.

_How many of the agents Tom Card trained had he corrupted over the years? There had been a time when he too would have done anything his mentor asked without question._

"I'll have to speak to Jesse, explain how this works."_He was going to have to convince Tom Card he was on his side while he got enough evidence to get the crazy bastard locked up for the rest of his __life._

"Before you do that, I'd like you to make a call." Card smiled. "To let the rest of your team know to stand down, that we're all friends now." He held out his cell phone for Michael to use.

Michael took the phone, his eyes narrowing. "You want me to call them so you can trace the call?"

Card wasn't fazed. He remained relaxed, wearing a patronizing smirk. It was obvious to anyone with a brain that he had won. Michael had no moves left on the board. "I want you to call them so they don't do anything stupid. Your girlfriend is well known for her volatile nature." His former mentor leaned forward, the good humor fading from his eyes. "I'd hate for something to happen while you're away because your friends hadn't got the memo about our arrangement."

"Fine, I'll make a call." Michael agreed. Getting to his feet, he pulled open the balcony doors. "I'd like a bit of privacy, if you don't mind."

"Make the call. I'll finish up and then I'll take you to meet up with Porter." Card was happy again. Getting to his feet, he headed for his bedroom to finish getting ready for a day at the office.

Michael stood looking out over the marina filled with expensive yachts. The sky was overcast, the sun not yet high enough to burn away the cloud. A gentle breeze brushed over his face, cooling his skin.

Gripping Card's cell phone tightly in his hand, he tried to think of the best way to handle the call. There was a strong possibility that Sam and Fiona would no longer be at the hotel. Noting it just after eight as he glanced at his watch, he remembered the wire he was wearing. Card hadn't searched him or mentioned anything about catching Jesse with a recording of their earlier conversation. _Had Jesse managed to conceal the evidence before he was captured? _He couldn't allow himself to hope, not yet, not until he had gathered enough evidence to put in to the hands of Bill Cowley.

With a sigh, he steeled himself to make the call. He just had to hope they were still at the Regency and understood his message.

"Fiona," he breathed out her name. He knew it was her before she had a chance to speak a word.

"Michael?" Her own voice came back as little more than a whisper.

"I'm alright," he blurted and then took a breath to steady himself to do what was necessary. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you." He stopped again, closing his eyes just for a second. He wanted to say _"I didn't mean to let you down." _But all that came out was, "let you."

He had to pull himself together; he was giving Card's people far too much time to find the location and get a team there. "Look, it's gonna be alright. I want you and Sam to lay low."

"Michael, what have you done? Where are you? We're on our way to Miami. We'll -" He could hear her panic and the hint of building anger.

"No! Stay where you are, you're safe. Please Fi, _honey_, do what I say... I'll see you soon... I promise... Bye Fi."

"Michael!"

He had heard the feral howl, but ended the call without another word. He could imagine Card sitting in his bedroom, already on the phone to whatever contacts he had close to Tallahassee. By his own estimation, his friends had less than thirty minutes to get out of the hotel before they were faced with a tactical team.

_**()()()**_

Fiona slammed the phone down, her eyes wide. "He said we should stay here, that we were safe and then he called me _honey_!"

"Damn," Sam growled and looked wildly about the penthouse checking they were leaving nothing behind. "We've gotta get out of here _now_!"

Fiona nodded and, without a word, rushed back to call the elevator up to their floor. As soon as the doors slid open, she threw their bags inside and held the door open for Sam to join her.

"You think you can keep up?" she asked, not liking Sam's pallor or the little beads of sweat trickling down his forehead.

"With you? Not a problem, sister." He tried to grin, but the effort was too much.

"Good, cuz I'm not dragging your sorry carcass all the way back to Miami." She drew her H & K handgun, pointing it at the doors as they slid open.

The parking garage was clear. Returning her gun to her purse, Fiona grabbed up the heaviest of the bags and left Sam to carry the other in his left hand while he keeping his injured right arm close to his body.

"When I was looking out from the terrace, I saw a small cafe across the street from the hotel. It's an ideal spot for you to watch out for the bad guys while I go find us a ride," Fiona spoke as she led the way out onto the street and into the cool winter air of Northern Florida.

"From across the street? You don't think they'll see me?" Sam huffed.

"You can sit inside. Besides whoever is coming for us isn't going to be looking for us outside the hotel."

Reaching what turned out to be a small coffee shop, Fiona dumped her bags down next to Sam and fished out the last of her money from her pockets.

"It should be enough for a coffee," she told him, her eyes focused on the front of the hotel.

"Don't take too long finding the ride," Sam grumbled. "And nothing flashy." But Fiona was already on her way outside.

Walking along the pavement, filled with pedestrians, most of them on their way to work, Fiona couldn't help but think about the phone call.

Michael would have never used a code unless it was the only way to get a warning out. The endearment only told them he was in deep trouble and that they needed to run. It didn't tell them where he was, or what trouble he was in. She guessed it had to do with Tom Card. The code word also didn't tell them what had happened to Jesse. Regardless of the danger, they had to get back to Miami to find the answers.

Suddenly she found herself caught up in a crowd of workers on their way into a large modern building. Pushing through the men and women, bumping into as many of them as she could while she forced her way through, she came out of the other side of the crush with a cell phone and two wallets.

Smiling at her cunning, she dropped the phone into her purse and quickly checked the wallets, removing the cash and counting out a total of ninety six dollars.

_Not bad for a few minutes work_. Thankfully, Michael's various little side jobs had helped to keep up her pick pocketing skills.

Reaching the end of the block, she turned a corner and discovered the buildings parking lot full of cars which nobody would notice gone until after five o' clock in the evening.

For once Fiona ignored the high performance cars and the newer models or high end vehicles. As she walked casually along the rows, she pretended she could hear Michael's voice in her ear, lecturing on the right type of getaway vehicle to avoid the attention of law enforcement.

A ten year old Toyota Camry caught her eye and within two minutes she was driving it away, passing by the unmanned security gate. She had no idea where the guard had gone and couldn't have cared less.

As she came to a stop outside the coffee shop, she saw two large SUVs with blacked out windows pass her by before screeching to a halt at the front of the Regent Hotel. Gasping as another cramping pain hit her stomach, she closed her eyes and breathed through the pain until her muscles relaxed. _If she'd had the time, she would have visited the Regent's chef and force feed him every plate of tuna salad she could find._

Staying hidden in the car, Fiona opened her eyes in time to see men in suits come out of the vehicles and rush into the hotel. Running her tongue over suddenly dry lips, she checked her watch. It had taken these men only slightly more than fifteen minutes from Michael's call to turn up at the hotel. _What the hell have you done, Michael?_

Knowing she wasn't going to find an answer to her question sitting in a stolen car on a Tallahassee street, Fiona climbed out of the Toyota just in time to help Sam with the bags.

Moments later, Fiona quietly slipped the Toyota into the stream of rush hour traffic. As she drove, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, she used the other to reach into her purse and pull out the "borrowed" cell phone.

"You'd best call Elsa and tell her it's time to get out of Miami."

"This clean, Sticky Fingers?" Sam queried as he took the phone, turning it over in his hand.

Privately he marveled at Fiona's skills. In less than ten minutes, she had stolen a phone and a car and god only knew what else she had managed to stash away in her purse.

"It won't have been reported missing yet, if that's what you mean," she answered.

Satisfied, Sam wasted no time putting in the number to Elsa's burner phone. "Hey, baby, er…. we've hit a little problem at this end... It might be for the best if you take that little trip outta state we talked about."

"Sam, what's happened?"

"I can't get into it now. I'm sorry..." He blinked away a stray tear.

"I'll leave soon. I've just got -"

"No! You have to leave right _now. _I'm sorry, Elsa baby, but -"

"It's alright, Sammy. I'll cancel the meeting I - I'll go stay with that girlfriend I told you about. I'll leave once I've made a call."

"Thank you," he sighed into the phone.

"My pilot called... He's on his way. I'll make sure there's a car waiting for you when you land." He heard her suck in a deep breath. "Sam, take care... Come back to me in one piece."

"Sam," Fiona interrupted, tapping the face of her watch and reminding him about spending too long on a call.

"I've gotta go now, sweetheart. I'll see you soon... Love you."

"I love you, too, Sammy."

He had never felt this way about a woman before and he was sure he was going to lose her over all this mess. Elsa Dearbon was a high class lady. She had men lining up to take her out, Rich, powerful men who didn't get involved in shoot outs and wouldn't drag her into CIA investigations.

"Elsa's ride will be waiting for us on time. She's going to take a trip to DC stay with a girlfriend who's married to a civil rights attorney," Sam told Fiona.

Fiona laid a hand over Sam's and spoke softly. "She'll be safe."

Sam nodded sadly before closing his eyes and resting. He was pretty sure this flight back to Miami was going to be his last chance to rest for some time.

_**()()()**_

Following his escort into yet another drab windowless interrogation room, Jesse took the only seat in the room and looked up at the female agent who had barely spoken a word to him during the long walk through whatever building he was being held in.

"Get comfortable, Mr. Porter. You maybe here for a while," she smirked, turning away to leave him alone with his thoughts.

"Hey!" Jesse called out. "My mouth, it's a little dry... Any chance of a Diet Dr. Pepper? Or some water, if that's all you've got." He smiled as her back stiffened at his words before she stalked away disappearing around a corner.

Settling back to survey his new surroundings, Jesse noted the room was much like the one he had been held in before; however, the lack of handcuffs was a pleasant change as was the open door which allowed him a view of the hallway, a view which unfortunately included a large muscular man in a tight fitting suit.

Outwardly, Jesse worked on looking calm and unconcerned by his treatment. He was pretty sure this extremely light touch wasn't going to last for much longer and knew better than to show any sign of weakness that his captors could use later to break him.

Inwardly, he was worried about not only what had happened to Michael, but also what Michael might have done. Ever since Tyler Grey's admission that Tom Card was the one who ordered Anson's death and in the process got Nate killed, Michael had become one scary SOB. The cool headed spy who always had a plan had changed into a man running head long into one disaster after another. _He _s_hould have never let Michael out of that elevator_

The sound of footsteps in the corridor had Jesse sitting up and looking out of the door in time to see the guard spring to attention. Seconds later, Jesse was on his feet, his mouth hanging open as he stared with disbelief at the sight before his eyes.

Michael with a smile on his face standing facing Tom Card, the older man patting the younger on the arm before shaking his hand. Then as Card turned to walk away, Michael moved calmly towards him.

"Mike! What the hell is going on?" Jesse covered the distance to the door in three long strides only coming to a stop when the guard held out a hand palm outwards to stop him approaching.

"It's okay. Let him go," Michael spoke to the guard and, to Jesse's surprise, the man stepped away.

"Jesse, we need to talk." Michael entered the room and closed the door behind him. Just by looking at the older man, Jesse could see that Westen was in full CIA mode. "Card has a job for us – and I said yes."

"What? Are you crazy?" Jesse wasn't sure if it was his hearing that was going or if Michael had truly lost his mind. _Card tried to kill them!_

"I've got all the details. I'll fill you on the flight." Michael ignored Jesse's outburst, speaking as if it was all a done deal.

Lowering his voice and stepping in until his face was inches off Michael's, Jesse hissed into his friend's ear. "So, what? We're Card's lap dogs now? What happened to getting the goods on that piece of scum and handing it over to Cowley?"

Michael pushed him back, his features set in hard uncompromising lines. "We're doing the job because it's the only way to save Agent Pearce's life."


	12. Revelations

**AIDEN.**

**A/N: Thank you for all your reviews for this story, I really do appreciate every one even though I rarely get the chance to send back personal replies. Thanks go out as well to Amanda Hawthorn and Jedi SKysinger who read through parts of this chapter, and of course Jedi Skysinger for managing to find the time to do a beta.  
**

_**Chapter Twelve, Revelations.**_

_Whether you're a spy, or an ex-terrorist with an interest in high explosives, you take care of the things you need to help you survive._

_You check your guns, making sure all the parts are in good working order. You do the same with your primary vehicle; a busted tail light might get you pulled by local law enforcement, but a blown engine gasket might get you killed._

_But far more important than both guns and cars is your own body and mind. You spend any down time between missions looking after your greatest weapons. You fuel your body with the right foods, you take vitamins and you exercise. You learn to listen to all the little aches and pains from old injuries and you catch illnesses early because you can't risk being at anything less than perfectly tuned for action. You hone your fighting techniques, practice your driving skills and study every manual, trade magazine and newspaper you can get your hands on __because__ knowledge is power._

_In short, you learn to listen and to respond to your body's needs because you never know when you're going to have to rely on it to get you out of trouble. _

_**()()()**_

As soon as they had climbed on board Elsa Dearbon's G6 private jet, Sam Axe had slumped down onto one of the luxurious white leather seats and, with his head thrown back, had promptly fallen into an exhausted sleep. Though he had tried his best to hide how much pain he was in, Fiona had seen the tension in his shoulders and the way he had gritted his teeth every time their stolen car had hit a bump in the road.

So for once, she kept her mouth closed and, instead of berating him for being lazy, she had leaned over and fastened his seatbelt for him. Then, in an act of unusual kindness, she got a blanket from one of the cupboards and spread it out over his knees, all without disturbing him from his sleep.

As the powerful jet engines began to roar, Fiona took her seat. Resting her head back against the headrest, she hoped to get some sleep herself. But her trouble mind refused to let her relax. On the short drive from the hotel to the airfield, she had begun to doubt her previous diagnosis of food poisoning. She knew what eating bad tuna did to her body and, apart from being doubled over in agony, she had shown none of the usual signs of food poisoning, just painful cramps followed by a dull dragging ache as her muscles tried to recover. _So if not bad tuna, what was it?_

Staring blindly ahead as the jet soared upwards on its flight back to Miami, her right hand unconsciously began to explore the inside of her left arm, a few inches above her elbow around the site of her last contraceptive implant. For the last couple of hours, a cold feeling of dread had been creeping up from the deep recesses of her mind. A distant, and worrying, memory of her life back in Ireland, back when she had been nothing more than an innocent Catholic schoolgirl before she had met her first love and had the need to use contraceptives; a time when she suffered from severe stomach cramps on a monthly basis.

The memory had left her with a dry mouth and a cold sinking feeling in her chest. The only possible reason why she was having these pains was if the implant in her arm was no longer working. There had been stories years ago about how they could move or stop working, but she'd never had any problems and she had always been reassured that the chances of anything going wrong was near impossible. But if it _had_ stopped working, it also meant she had been having unprotected sex and that meant –

She lifted her arm, studying the site where the nurse had placed the last implant, probing the skin with her fingertips searching for the tiny device. All the while her mind was frantically reminding her of all the damage her arms had taken in recent months: cuts and scratches from fights or ricocheting bullets, being grabbed hold of, the skin and muscles of her arm being pulled and twisted. _Was any of it enough to dislodge an implant?_

Gulping nervously, she thought of all the times they had made love, or had had sex with wild abandon. _Had it all been with nothing to stop a pregn-_ She bit down hard on her lip, unable to finish the thought.

Dropping her left arm down when she was unable to locate the tiny device, her right hand fell over her stomach, kneading at the sore tight muscles. If the implant had failed sometime during her stay in prison, why was she only getting these pains now? _If it had failed since –?_

Another unwelcome memory hit her hard and a vision sprung to mind of visiting her brother Sean and his wife, of sitting in their kitchen watching Rosanna run her hand over her flat stomach.

"_Am pregnant again," she had announced with a soft dreamy smile. "It's too early fer a visit ta the doctors, but I've been getting these little pains fer the last day. I got 'em befer when I fell with Sian."_

_No! No! NO! _Tears sprung into her eyes; she couldn't bear to think about that possibility. _It was the wrong time. They weren't prepared. _She would have to tell Michael!_ Oh god, he would go ballistic! He had made it very clear over the years that he didn't want children and with everything that was happening -. _

She closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to quell the rising panic. She could do nothing about it until she got hold of a preg – until she could do a test, so until then she wasn't going to think about it._ Besides it wasn't possible, was it?_

Of course, regardless how much she didn't want to think of the possibility, now the thought was there, she couldn't stop herself. _Would it really be so bad if she was? Her mother had managed just fine, raising seven children in what had been effectively a war zone. Was Miami any worse than Northern Ireland had been in the sixties and seventies?_

_And then there were her brothers, Liam and Colin were unmarried and, as far as she was aware, had no children. But Sean had managed to raise four beautiful babies, the eldest was now attending university in Dublin, and Seamus had eight at the last count. Both men lived dangerous lives and had more than their fair share of enemies, yet nobody had ever been so stupid as to come after them through their wives or children._

The voice of the pilot coming through the intercom, informing them they were about to land, pulled her back to the present. Looking across to where Sam remained slumped in his seat, Fiona got wearily to her feet and went to wake him.

"Sam, we're coming into land."

"Huh?" He looked up at her through bloodshot eyes.

"We're landing. You might want to get ready in case we have a welcoming party waiting for us." She handed him a spare handgun and then returned to her seat as the plane began to dip.

Breathing through another cramping pain, Fiona remained tense as the plane landed and taxied along the runway towards a row of hangars.

"Relax, Tinkerbell," Sam growled. "Elsa said she'd have everything arranged for us. We're going over to her hangar and look." He tapped the window. "That dark blue Caddy, that's one of hers... We're home free, sister."

As soon as the jet came to a stop in the center of the large hangar, a member of the ground crew rushed over with a set of steps. Climbing out, Fiona looked around, her hand never straying far from the handle of her gun which was nestled in the small of her back.

"I told you, we've got nothing to worry about," Sam huffed as he joined her. "C'mon, we need to find some place to hole up, and then start looking for Mikey."

In the car, Fiona and Sam found an envelope with two sets of keys, one for the car and the other a set of house keys. Along with them was a note containing the address of a house on Palm Island, which Elsa informed them she thought would be safe for them to use.

"I don't know what you do for these women, Sam. In fact, I don't want to know... But whatever it is, just keep doing it, please."

"Elsa's the one and only for me now." Sam sank down into the passenger seat. "I mean, I can only think of three other people who would go to this much trouble for me."

Fiona grinned for the moment, her troubles pushed to the back of her mind. "Are you counting me as one of the three?"

Sam swallowed and then, with a perfectly straight face, replied. "Nah, Mike, Jesse and I thought maybe Maddy. I mean, she's always been there for me, giving me a place to stay."

"Good. Because I definitely wouldn't go to any trouble for you at all," she grinned as she started the engine and drove out of the hangar, both of them a little more relaxed and happy now that they were back in Miami and had somewhere to stay. Soon, they would start the hunt for Michael and Jesse.

_**()**_

They drove along the MacArthur Causeway and onto the bridge which led onto Palm Island and then followed the road around the island until they reached the safe house. It was on the inner ring of houses with no access to the ocean. Surrounded by tall neatly trimmed hedges, Fiona drove onto the wide circular gravel-covered driveway to get her first view of a Mediterranean style, two-story home; its freshly painted exterior shone brightly under the Miami sun.

Forcing her attention away from the house, she focused on the other car that sat on the driveway outside the attached double garage.

"Did that note say anything about us sharing the secret safe house?" Fiona asked, as she continued to scan the property for signs of a trap.

"It's Elsa," Sam answered softly nodding to the open front door and the woman stood just inside.

"You did tell her to leave town, didn't you? We don't have time to babysit…" Her words trailed off then as Elsa came out of the house, rushing towards the car. Fiona brought her gun out as a strange muscular man stepped into view from behind the hotelier.

"Hey! Slow down, I don't think he's CIA," Sam snapped worriedly. "I'm pretty sure he works for Elsa. He looks familiar; he's one of her security people."

Showing a complete lack of caution, Elsa rushed over to the car and, as soon as Sam had the door open, she was helping him out and fussing over his gunshot arm. "I'm sorry, Sammy, but I had to stay. Doctor Green called and told me what had happened and I had to see you."

"It's not safe," he started to say, his eyes focused on the man standing behind Elsa.

"I know; you told me. That's why I brought David with me." She broke the hug and gestured for the stranger to come forward. "This is David Geary, he's part of the Dearbon security team. He was in Special Forces and has worked protection details over the world."

Geary stood and waited as Sam and Fiona surveyed him. He remained unblinking under their scrutiny. They could both see he was ex-military and obviously knew how to handle himself.

"He has worked for me for nearly ten years," Elsa huffed. She wasn't used to having her decisions questioned like this and it was unnerving for her to watch as her man silently communicated with a much younger, attractive woman. Even though she knew there was nothing but friendship between the two, it still rankled. Finally, it seemed Sam and Fiona came to an agreement as they both relaxed their guard.

"Let's get inside." Fiona made the call. Looking over to the garages, she asked. "We should get the cars out of sight."

"I'll do that," Geary replied.

"I'll help." Fiona smiled back at him, not about to leave a stranger alone with their transport. "Sam, you get inside and check that it's secure."

"It's secure," Geary commented.

"We'd just like to be sure, that's all," Sam answered with a smile.

With the cars out of sight in the garage, Fiona followed Geary back inside. Entering through the kitchen, she took her time to check out the ground floor and was surprised at how little there was to see. The place had been gutted: fresh wiring hung down between the bare metal studs, most of which were still awaiting drywall.

"It belonged to a couple who bought it cheap as a foreclosure. But they ran out of money before they could get all the work done. I picked it up for just over half its real value." Elsa stood in the door way leading to a large open lounge, which surprisingly had a few pieces of furniture scattered about. "I haven't decided what to do with it yet."

Fiona continued to look around. It had the potential to be a lovely family home. Her hand strayed to her stomach. If she _was_ pregnant, if she had _Michael's baby_, would they ever get to have a house like this? Her mind began to rampage with thoughts of a home life with a baby. Silently cursing, she quickly shut down those thoughts. She didn't even know yet; besides, if she was, they wouldn't be living in a house like this.

She sucked in a breath; she didn't feel up to dealing with Elsa and Sam or the bodyguard. She needed some time alone. "I'm going to check out upstairs," she called out and, without waiting for a reply, headed upstairs.

She was half way up what looked like a brand new wooden staircase when the next cramping pain hit and she gasped and nearly fell on the stairs. With her head spinning, she gratefully accepted the hand that took hold of her arm and helped her down the stairs.

"You injured?" Geary asked.

"No, a stomach bug, that's all."

"What's up, Fiona?" Sam came out of the lounge to see what the noise was about.

"Nothing, I told you. I'm fine." She gritted her teeth, angry and embarrassed at the attention she was getting.

"It's not food poisoning," Sam answered, standing aside so Geary could bring Fiona into the only room with halfway decent furniture. "You get bit by anything in the jungle?"

"No!" Fiona snapped back as she was eased down into a chair.

"I'm calling my doctor to check on Sam, he can look you over, too," Elsa announced firmly reaching for her cell phone. "No arguing." She glared at them both as she began to dial.

_**()()()()**_

Michael hadn't given Jesse the chance to argue or question his decision to work a job for Tom Card. He had bulldozed the younger man into following him from the interrogation room and out into the bright mid-morning sunshine with a mixture of talk of saving the life of Danni Pearce and the sheer force of his personality. Accompanied by CIA guards, Jesse had thankfully had the sense to keep control of his temper and his mouth shut on the short walk to the large black four-door sedan waiting for them.

Once inside, they sat in silence at opposite ends of the back seat as the driver pulled away from the curb to take them to the plane that would fly them half way across the world. Letting out a long exaggerated sigh, Michael spread out further on his side on the car. Relaxing his head back against the head rest, he let his hands lay lightly on his thighs. Then, after a quick look into the driver's rear view mirror to make sure his hands were out of the chauffeur's eye line, he began to let his fingers tap in a seemingly random manner against his leg.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the seat, Jesse Porter stared out of the window on his side of the car. Sitting upright with his arms crossed defensively over his chest, wearing an expression which clearly showed how unhappy he was with not only their present predicament, but also with the man who had apparently gotten them stuck running ops for a murderous rogue operative.

Sensing Michael's movements, Jesse glanced over at his companion, biting down on the angry comment which wanted to burst forth. _How the hell had the man gone from wanting to kill Card to becoming his errand boy? How much of the conversation between Card and Michael had he actually missed when he'd cut and run?_

Michael shifted in his seat again, his fingers still restlessly tapping away on his leg. _Couldn't the guy find one damn position and stick to it? It was like sitting in the car with a three year old. Westen had to be pretty keyed up about some – – Hello…_

The tapping wasn't a random action. Michael was sending him a message.

Dot dash dash …. dot dot dot dot... dot... dot dash dot... dot... dot dash dot...

Long fingers moved rapidly as the older man tapped out the same message over and over again, waiting for the younger to notice what he was doing.

_Where… _Jesse translated, his eyes narrowing as he read the rest of the message_…. i__s the recording?_

The two men locked eyes just for a second and then Jesse's fingers began to send out a reply.

_Dropped in bushes at hotel._

Michael gave no sign that he had read the message, but the rhythm of his tapping changed.

_Trust me, I will explain._

Jesse turned away to look out of the window, seemingly ignoring his companion, as his fingers replied.

_You better._

Michael wanted to continue the discussion and explain why he was acting the way he was, but he knew it was too risky. A longer discussion might alert their surveillance to their method of silent communication. He was pretty sure the driver couldn't see what they were doing, but there was always the risk Card had cameras hidden in the vehicle along with the bugs that Michael was positive his old mentor had secreted in the cars plush interior. So for now, all he could do was rely on Jesse's loyalty, and pray that the younger man hadn't had enough of his games.

They continued to make a point of ignoring each other as they pulled into the airport, driving straight over to a large hangar at the end of the field. Under cover, the building was a hive of activity as a C37-A jet was being prepared for take-off.

"I see working for a homicidal lunatic has its perks." Jesse had leaned in close to Michael, so only the older man heard had his dig.

Apart from clenching his jaw, Michael gave no indication he had heard the comment. Instead, he picked up the pace a little, forcing the agent leading the way to extend his stride to stay in front.

They were escorted into a back room filled with benches and equipment lockers at the far end and at the other end a small office.

"Your flight leaves in an hour," their escort informed them. "Everything you need is over there. Your weapons are already on board."

Walking further into the room, they both took note of the dark-colored suits on hangers and plain white shirts. There was also underwear, socks, shoes and even belts. Jesse looked at the clothing, noting that all the labels had been removed.

Michael was holding onto one of the three cardboard covered files. "Legends, for the first leg of the mission," he informed his colleague. "We're sales executives for an I.T company looking to expand our import business into the Indian market."

Jesse turned away from the clothing to lift the thickest of the files, "When in fact we are there to extract a thief who has been stealing Indian military tech."

"A nice easy job, before we get to break through police lines and take on entrenched terrorists and save the day," Michael smirked.

"This is crazy..." Jesse was now looking at the blue print for the hotel. "So how are we sneaking inside a building surrounded _by _an army and filled _with _armed men?"

"One thing at a time, Jesse. We have to get Card's man first. Let's concentrate on that."

"You seriously gonna to do Card's dirty work for him? After what you know he's pulled?" Jesse dropped his voice to a hiss.

Michael breathed deeply, before taking the file out of Jesse's hands and dropping it onto the bench with the others. "We do Card's job first and then we get Danni out. I'll come up with a plan once I can actually see the situation on the ground. There is always a way inside... You just have to be prepared to take some chances."

Pulling off his jacket Michael spoke again, this time quietly without moving his lips.

"Think you can distract the guard on the door long enough for me to make a call?"

"Call?"

"No time for Q and A, Jesse, a simple yes or no."

"Yes, then," Jesse answered, already checking out the guard standing just outside the door.

They remained silent as they got changed until there was a ripping sound. "Oh, man, jeez. This – this here is one of the reasons I quit CIFA." Jesse waved the shirt which had a torn sleeve in Michael's face before, without a pause, turning to the guard, getting up into his face and complaining loudly about the cheap garment. "Can't you guys pry the wallet loose and cough up little cash for some decent threads?"

Michael stopped listening as soon as Jesse had the guard out of the door. Moving quickly, he ran silently across to the office. Working quickly, he disconnected the hand set of the office phone and then unscrewed the back of the computer sitting on the desk. Moments later he had the phone connected to the computer and was set up to make an untraceable call.

"Hey, Barry, I've gotta little job for you."

"Michael? Should you be calling me?" Barry sounded worried, though that was nothing unusual for the money launderer.

"Probably not, but I need you to do me a favor. I need you to go to the Eden Roc and look in the bushes at the front of the building. You'll find a – it looks a bit like an I-pod. I need you to take care of it for me. You know, put it somewhere safe."

There was a pause where all Michael could hear was Barry's breathing. Finally, he answered. "And why are you aren't you asking one of your more capable friends to do this task?"

"Sam and Fiona are busy. Listen, Barry, this is really important. You're going to have to get hold of some gardeners overalls and search the bushes and you need to do _before_ we get any rain. I've no time to explain now. Can you do this favor for me?"

"Mike, man, I would never ask you to do my taxes, so why are you mixing me up in your spy business?" Barry whined.

"Because I've got nobody else to ask," Michael admitted. "Please, Barry."

"Is this one of those,'do this or we're not friends things' again, Mike? Cuz if it is—oh, okay, fine, I'll do it." he reluctantly agreed.

"_Thank you_." Michael breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll owe you big time for this."

"Yes, you will."

"Now are we sure about _this one_?" Hearing Jesse talking loudly, Michael pulled the wire out of the computer and quickly screwed everything back into place. "I mean, look at some of your guys... You should speak to the Agency about buying in some bigger sizes."

Satisfied the office looked no different from before he entered, Michael ran back to where the rest of his clothes lay and quickly finished getting ready. By the time Jesse was back at his side, he was sat doing up his shoe laces.

"So, are we ready to go?" Jesse asked as he buttoned up his new shirt. "You got everything?"

"Yes," Michael smiled, picking up the files. "I think we have all the intel we need for now."

_**()()()**_

It was lunch-time in Miami and, under normal circumstances Barry Burkowski would have just been climbing out of bed and preparing himself for the day ahead. After a shower and an hour in front of the mirror, he would have been on his way to either a business meeting or maybe just an afternoon of sunning himself pool side at one of the many South Beach hotels.

But on this particularly hot and humid lunch time, he was dressed in a stolen gardeners uniform he had taken from the back of a City of Miami Public Works truck, picking up trash from outside the Eden Roc hotel and cursing the day he had ever met Michael Westen.

Finally, with a sigh of relief, he found what he had been sent to collect or at least he hoped it was, because it was the only I-pod type device he had seen. Dropping it in with the trash, Barry took a quick, furtive look around and then scurried away.

What he failed to notice, as he had stripped off the uniform before throwing it in a dumpster, was the well-dressed man who had been following since he walked away from the hotel.


	13. In Sixteen hours

**AIDEN.**

_**Chapter Thirteen, In Sixteen Hours.**_

_While Michael Westen and Jesse Porter were stuck in a sort of limbo, flying in a CIA sanctioned private jet across the Atlantic Ocean on their way to Mumbai, for everybody else left behind, life went on..._

_**()()**_

"I'm calling my doctor to check on Sam. He can look you over, too," Elsa announced firmly, reaching for her cell phone. "No arguing." She glared at them both as she began to dial.

Fiona shot Sam a look which told him in no uncertain terms to stop the love of his life from dragging even more innocent people into their problems. But much her annoyance, he just stared blandly back at her as Elsa's voice sounded loud and clear in the near empty house.

"Adam? Oh, thank god you're at home. I need you to come over to Palm Island... Yes, we're at that fixer-upper I bought... Sam's here with me... Er, um, yes. He's hurt himself... His arm... As soon as you can... Thank you, Adam, we'll be waiting for you." She closed her cell phone and turned to face her guests. "Adam Carrick is a close family friend. He'll keep quiet."

"Yeah, Fi, he cleaned me up after 'becca Lang nearly blew me up in the Glades," Sam added. "And he owes me a favour. So there's nothing to worry about. He's a good guy."

With one more killer glare, Fiona got to her feet and walked out of the living room and into the kitchen. She didn't need to hear what a good guy this latest doctor was or how he was a family friend from way back. All she could see was one more person who knew where they were hiding and one more person Tom Card could use against them.

She dragged her fingers through her hair. She couldn't get rid of the image of Aiden Malloy just as he turned away, his hand reaching into his jacket pocket, the look of grim determination on his face as he lit the fuse on the last of her home-made grenades. She attempted to blink away the memory, swiping at her eyes to clear her vision of those last awful moments.

"Fi," Sam had followed her. "My arm needs treating and you're sick. Elsa is just trying to help."

"I said, I'm fine now." Fiona kept her back to him, as she took back control of her ever shifting emotions. "We shouldn't be involving all these civilians, Sam. It's too dangerous."

"Dangerous? I'll tell you what's dangerous, sister. Neither of us are at the top of our game, Mike's off doing God only knows what and he's taken Jesse with him. I say we've gotta get ourselves back in shape before we go looking for trouble."

Before Fiona could answer, the sound of car tires on the driveway outside caught both their attention. Even as Sam was turning to go towards the door, he saw Elsa's security consultant had everything in hand.

"All clear," David Geary announced to the room. "It's Doctor Carrick, Miz Dearbon."

"I've already told you, David, it's Elsa. I think this situation calls for less formality than in the office," she gently scolded.

"As you say, Miz Dearborn."

Crossing the room, her high heels clacking on the concrete floor, Elsa went to greet her old family friend and physician, with both Geary and Sam following close behind.

Fiona however held back. The thought of being examined was causing an unusual feeling of dread. There was a part of her that didn't want an answer to what was wrong. Normally she feared nothing, but her right hand strayed to her left arm rubbing over the skin inside her elbow. _Food poisoning? An exotic insect bite? Or p-?_ She bit down on her bottom lip, while her eyes searched for an exit.

She needed space to think, to calm down and get her thoughts in order. _Somewhere out there, Michael was hunting down Tom Card with only Jesse for back up. Jesse was good, but she wasn't convinced Michael would listen to the younger man. If Michael confronted Card, she was positive it would end in bloodshed._ Suddenly, she didn't want to be there any more. Leaving the kitchen, she covered the open space to the staircase without being seen.

"Hey, Adam," Sam greeted the newcomer warmly.

"Sam, still getting into trouble I see." The doctor sounded older than Fiona expected and when she peeked over the bannister, she saw Adam Carrick was a white haired man in his late sixties or maybe even seventies.

"Just a little bit of muscle damage, doc. Nothing that a coupla weeks of R n' R won't fix."

Fiona smiled. Sam was doing his best to play down his injury in front of Elsa. _God help him when she got __a look at __the state of his bullet shredded bicep._

"Well, how about you let me be the judge of that? Let's get you sitting down and I'll take a look under that bandage."

The voices faded as they walked into the living room.

Satisfied she had at least some time to herself while Elsa's friend looked after Sam's arm, Fiona took the time to explore the rooms on the upper floor. She had to do something to try to take her mind off all that was happening.

Just like downstairs, the floors were bare concrete, but the walls were all in place and the bedrooms and bathroom were sectioned off. There were four bedrooms, a large master, two slightly smaller rooms and the last one more the size of a small office. The three larger rooms each had been outfitted with a bed, the mattresses still wrapped in plastic. Elsa had been a busy girl during their flight from Tallahassee.

Entering one of the smaller bedrooms, Fiona crossed the room to stare out of the large window which overlooked the back of the property. There was high, secure fencing marking the boundary, a freshly laid lawn and a big kidney shaped hole over to one side where one day a swimming pool would be installed.

"Fi, this is Adam Carrick. He's a close friend of Elsa's." The sound of Sam's voice made her turn away from the view and face the door and the two men standing there.

Fiona studied the elderly doctor and nodded a greeting, before glaring at Sam who took the hint and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"So, Miss –?" Dr. Carrick walked further into the room.

"Just Fiona is fine." She offered him a stiff smile.

"Fiona it is then. Sam mentioned stomach pain?"

"Yes, I think I may have eaten some bad tuna." She still held out hope that was the answer.

"Any other symptoms?"

She shook her head, "No, I slept through – I've been sleeping more than usual." She had slept through Michael leaving and Sam coming into the living room at the Regent penthouse.

"So fatigue and stomach cramps." He placed his bag on the bed. "No vomiting or diarrhoea?"

"No, – well, I've had a couple of bouts of nausea, feeling dizzy more than sick."

"Mmm, so, let's have a look at you. Sam said you've been abroad, in the jungle? Do you think you could have been bitten by anything? Or eaten, drank anything?"

"No, not that I'm aware of, and I ate and drank the same things as everyone else in the our group."

"So no, ice in your drinks, salads washed in the local water?"

"No."

"You mentioned bad tuna, but you ate it all? Sam said-"

"It didn't taste bad, but it was the last meal I had, so -"

He pursed his lips as he studied her. "Take a seat. I'll check you over and take some blood if that's alright? And we'll go from there."

He listened to her heart and lungs and made her lie down and put the stethoscope to her stomach. He pressed down on various parts of her belly, asking if it hurt anywhere, and then drew off a vial of blood.

"Think you can pee?" He held out a test tube.

Her mind went instantly to where it had been hovering for the last few hours.

"I can't be pregnant. This is a waste of your time. I have an implant." She waved her arm in his direction.

He seemed taken aback by her outburst, but gestured for her to show him her arm.

"Let me look." She sat as he probed her arm much the same way she had done herself. "Well, I can't locate it, but that doesn't mean it's not there. I noticed you've some recent scarring on your arms?"

"I've had a bad couple of months."

"Do the test and we'll go from there. I'm not just checking for a pregnancy."

x

_**Five minutes later.**_

x

"Well, Fiona." The doctor smiled down at his patient. "It's very early days, but you are definitely pregnant." He dropped the test strip into a waste basket and his latex gloves followed.

"Pregnant?" Fiona swallowed thickly, a feeling of nausea rising up from her already sore stomach. She was sitting on the mattress, her back against the wall and her knees drawn up towards her chest, her eyes filling with tears at the news.

"That's what the test says." Dr. Carrick's smile was becoming strained as he watched the woman before him crumble. But he pushed on, falling back on his professional training.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you how far along you are without further tests. I couldn't hear a heartbeat. But the test I used is very sensitive, so that's nothing to be worried about. It just means you're not that far along. What I'd like to do is come back in a few days' time and I'll take some more blood to make sure your hormone levels are going up."

"What about -?" She winced as her stomach clenched.

"The cramping pains you're experiencing? They're most likely due to your body reacting to the rising pregnancy hormones."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. They'll settle down in a few days. -" He smiled and began packing his bag and, as he packed, he continued to talk.

Fiona heard the sound of his voice, but was unable to make out the words due to the sound of blood rushing through her head. Pressing the heels of her hands against her tightly closed eyes, she tried to bring order to the thoughts rampaging through her mind.

_This sort of thing had __never__ happened to her before, not in her highly fertile twenties __or her thirties; she was always so careful. So why on earth did it have to happen now? No, the doctor was wrong, the test he did was wrong and the blood he had taken to run some more tests would either be wrong, too, or would prove her point that the first test he did was wrong. She __couldn't__ be pregnant._

"Fiona, do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

She removed her hands and opened her eyes to stare blindly ahead. She could hear the doctor's frustration at her lack of response, but she didn't care. She was still trying to process. She had suspected, she had even dared to hope, but now hearing it confirmed… It was all so dreadfully real. What had she been thinking?

_There was no way she was capable of bringing up a baby. What had possessed her to even consider the idea? Her mother raised seven children, had spent nearly half her married life pregnant. But everyone knew Maeve Glenanne was capable of doing whatever she set her mind to: birthing babies, shooting guns and, by all accounts, she could cook a meal for nine and build a car bomb to take out a passing army patrol all at the same time._

_She was __not__ her mother. Besides, Maeve had had her family around her and Patrick Glenanne may have been one of the top bomb makers, but when he was alive he had been no Michael Westen. Michael had enemies who wouldn't hesitate to use a child as leverage._

_Her sister-in-laws who were raising the next generation of Glenannes had a support system surrounding them, family members who would die to protect them or rain bloody hell down on anyone who tried to lay hands on them. Michael had run off yet again, leaving her with a mess to clean up, and who did she have? Could she drag Sam into protecting her and a baby? Put Elsa at even greater risk? How much more could that woman take before kicking Sam to the curb?_

She sniffed, fighting back tears which threatened to flow.

"You need to rest and drink plenty of water. Dehydration would be very bad for you and the baby and I'm going to leave you a prescription for some vitamins. Once we confirm this in a few days' time, I'll set you up with an obstetrician."

_They were in hiding, Michael was off stalking a rogue CIA agent, Sam was injured, it was all on her to keep them safe and he wanted her to visit an obstetrician? Why not put an advertisement in the Herald too while she was at it? Or, ta hell wid it, jus' put a call through ta Tommy O'Neill or better yet Grayson Miller, save tham tha time o' hunting her and her baby down. _

_She wasn't going to cry. She couldn't afford the luxury of falling to pieces. She was going to -_

"Fiona?" The doctor's sharp tone broke through her rampaging thoughts, but by the time she looked up he was gone.

She placed a hand over her stomach, pressing down trying to feel a connection to the life growing inside her. A disappointed frown marred her features when she felt nothing. She wasn't a natural with children or babies. Even with her nieces and nephews, she'd kept her distance, only holding their squirming little bodies when they had been thrust into her arms.

Closing her eyes, she rested back. There was nothing she could do about it now; it was done. All she could do now was figure out a way of making it work out. Taking slow deep breaths, she thought through what steps she needed to take.

By the time, she heard footsteps on the wooden staircase coming in her direction she knew what her first move was; she was going to find Michael.

_**Meanwhile in another part of Miami...**_

_**Madeline...**_

After Nate was murdered, Madeline Westen was sure she was never going to smile again. But today, everything had changed. For the first time in months, her heart felt lighter and her face actually ached because of the bright sunny smile that she just couldn't get rid of.

Yesterday, the ex-Mrs. Ruth Westen had knocked on her door and had given her a reason to carry on. Little Charlie Westen, who she had thought was gone from her life forever, was back. It may be only for one or two weeks a couple of times a year at least for now. But it didn't matter because her ditz of an ex-daughter-in-law had a kind heart and was giving her a second chance.

So, instead of spending yet another day mourning the death of one son and abandonment of the other, she had gone to ZooMiami with Ruth and Charlie. Tired, but incredibly happy, Madeline unlocked her front door and went inside.

The phone was ringing and she quickly made her way over, dropping her purse on the floor as she grabbed the handset before the caller could hang up.

"Hello!" she answered breathlessly. "Michael?"

"No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Westen… Madeline, it's Michael's boss, Tom, Tom Card. I was hoping to have a word with you. Is it alright if we talk now?"

"Er, well," She looked out of the front door to where Ruth was walking up the path holding Charlie in her arms. "Yes, of course."

"Thank you, Madeline. First, I want to say I realize how hard the other day must have been for you and… and I just want you to know I feel your pain."

"Thank you," Madeline sighed and she gestured for Ruth to make herself at home. "Why have you called? Is something wrong?"

"It's probably nothing, but there's been a glitch in our communications."

Madeline felt her heart begin to thump. Michael had promised to call her every day and, when he hadn't, she had blamed him for breaking his word. But now, _what if he was hurt?_

"Has something happened to Michael?"

"No, no, there is absolutely no reason to believe that. I actually wanted to know if you'd heard from him," came Card's reassuring reply.

"No, he said he would be unreachable until he got back."

"Right..." Card paused, then as if he was imparting a secret, he lowered his voice. "I'll go off the record for a second... I used to leave an emergency phone with my father when I knew I was going to be out in the field for a particularly long stretch, – couldn't have been more against the rules, but it's family right? You and Michael don't have anything like that, do you?"

"No." She wished they had. He could have done that for her.

"Really?" Card pressed.

"No."

"It's very important I get in touch with him. No special arrangement? What about his friends? Do you have a way of contacting them, an emergency number? A meeting place?"

Madeline took a deep breath and looked across to where Ruth sat on the couch. Charlie was standing on her legs, trying to jump up and down while she held his hands. Maddie felt a lump in her throat.

"Mrs. Westen, it's important." Card interrupted her thoughts.

"Sorry, no, we had no special arrangements. When Michael was away, years ago I used to wait for a call, or a postcard, anything. Eventually, I learned to live without the postcard. That way I was never disappointed."

"Mrs. Westen, everything is going to be okay." Card sounded so sincere and Madeline wanted to believe him. "If you hear from him, or Fiona Glenanne, or Sam Axe, please give me a call."

"I will... Goodbye Agent Card."

"Mrs. Westen."

She put the phone down and stared sadly at the counter top. Michael was missing again and this time even the CIA didn't know where he was.

"Gramma!" Charlie squirmed in his mother's arms and continued to call out loudly. "Gramma!"

Instantly, Madeline pulled herself together and, when she turned to face her grandson, her face was lit up with a happy smile. "What do you want, sweetie? Come and show me."

Charlie ran towards her as fast as his little legs could manage with Ruth trailing behind him. "Everything alright, Madeline?"

"Yes, dear." Charlie stopped in front of her and raised his arms up, tugging on her long purple over-shirt. "Here, you show me what you want." She lifted Charlie up and, with squeals of excitement, he made a grab for the bottles of juice she had bought the day before for just such occasion. "Which one, honey?"

He pointed to the red one, the strawberry juice.

"That one?"

He nodded eagerly and, while Maddie continued to hold her grandson, Ruth mixed a small amount of the juice with water and snapped a lid onto the plastic cup.

With Charlie back on the floor, Ruth stood twirling her ponytail with her fingers, watching her mother-in-law pour out two glasses of iced tea.

"Why don't you come visit with me and Charlie back in Vegas? Just for a while, it would be -"

"Amazing?" Madeline's lips twitched.

"Yes, amazing." Ruth grinned and sipped her tea.

Madeline thought about it. A trip to Las Vegas would get her away from Miami and being with Charlie helped keep her mind off what Michael might be doing. Taking a sip of her own beverage, she couldn't think of a single thing she had left tying her to this place.

_**()()()()**_

_**Barry...**_

Barry Burkowski was in dire need of some relaxation and several large minty mojitos. Ever since Michael Westen's late morning phone call, Miami's premier money launderer had been feeling a steady rise in his blood pressure.

So, to make up for the indignity of having to perform manual labor and the sheer stress of being dragged into the dangerous world of Michael Westen, he was making his way to his favorite health spa. A massage, followed by a deep cleansing facial and a manicure would help him mentally decompress before his first meeting of the day.

The I-pod like device he had retrieved from the bushes outside the Eden Roc was still in his pants pocket, as he hadn't yet come up with the perfect place to hide it away. It was all very well Michael asking him to do these little tasks, but the man should at least have given him a clue about want to do next.

As he reached his destination and his foot was just stepping over the threshold of Elysian Spa, a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders and directed him away from all the relaxing treatments waiting for inside and instead forced him in towards a large beige Crown Victoria sedan waiting at the curb.

Forced into the back of the vehicle, Barry's day went from bad to plain disastrous when he saw who was twisting around in the drivers seat to face him.

"Barry," the man's wide toothy grin caused caused him to cringe away. "It's been a while."

_**()()()()**_

_**Back on Palm Island...**_

Sam paused outside the room that Fiona had claimed for her own, his fingers brushing over the door handle as he prepared himself to step into what he suspected was going to be the equivalent of facing down a Category 5 Hurricane.

He wasn't a stupid man. He had been a Navy SEAL Commander and, during his many years in service to his country, he had been on countless missions which had frequently called for him to lead his men into danger. As a good team leader, he was used to watching over his men and spotting when something wasn't quite right with one of them.

He was also used to paying attention to women and, although if anybody were to ask him he would never admit to thinking of Fiona as anything more than an annoying, marginally psychotic little sister, he wasn't completely blind to her femininity.

He had first become concerned back in Tallahassee when he had managed to walk right up behind her while she slept. He should have never been able to get so close to her. Under normal circumstances, Fiona had the reactions of a feral cat. He had nearly fallen out of bed getting up and hadn't made any effort to be quiet. When he entered the living room of the penthouse suite, he should have found her wide awake with a gun pointing at his head.

The mention of eating some bad tuna hadn't convinced him one little bit. He knew the symptoms of food poisoning. He'd spent a lot of time over the years overseas in Third World countries and he'd had his own bouts with bad food and bad water during that time. Fiona wasn't anywhere near as sick as she should have been.

No, he had his own idea what was up with Ms. Glenanne and, even though the doc hadn't actually come out and said what was up with the lady upstairs, the orders to see she got plenty of rest and the prescription for folic acid had removed the last of Sam's doubts. So now he stood nervously outside her door wondering what the hell he was going to say.

And what the hell she was going to do to him when he said it.


	14. Mumbai, Miami and the Skies in between

**AIDEN:**

**A/N: _First of all I'd like to say thank you all for your reviews. I'm sorry I don't manage to send out personal thanks that often but I do appreciate every one. Also thank you Amanda Hawthorn and Jedi Skysinger for reading thru this chapter for me, along with DaisyDay you ladies brighten up my days. And finally thank you Jedi Skysinger for managing to find time in your busy day to beta of this chapter for me._  
**

**Chapter Fourteen. Mumbai, Miami and in the skies in between.**

_Time difference: Mumbai is ten and a half hours ahead of Florida time. So while Dani Pearce was enjoying her breakfast on the balcony of the Golden Palace Hotel in central Mumbai, Michael Westen and Jesse Porter had been arguing in a Tallahassee hotel elevator._

**Mumbai…**

_The day before..._

Every morning Dani Pearce woke up at five AM and slipped into her gym clothes, took a bottle of water from the mini fridge and left her hotel room to travel up one floor to the well-equipped gymnasium on the twenty third floor. After an hour of exercise, she would return to her room for a long refreshing shower, before room service arrived with her continental breakfast at 06:45.

While most of her staff liked to eat together in the first floor restaurant, Dani preferred to have breakfast alone sitting out on her private balcony where she could watch the sunrise and catch up on news from the US by reading through a two or even three day old copy of the New York Times or Washington Post. This quiet, well-ordered ritual helped set her up for the rest of the day working in the bustling, overcrowded city.

The loud crackle of automatic gunfire coming from the hallway outside her room was not part of her daily ritual and brought her instantly to full alert. She didn't have to think, as her mind and body had been honed by years of active field service to react to danger. Rushing back into her room from the balcony, she had grabbed her purse and, as the door handle rattled, she had looked around desperately for somewhere to hide.

Lying flat in the narrow gap between the ceiling and the top of her wardrobe, with the gun she kept in her purse in her hand, she watched as two masked men armed with assault rifles burst through the door. She remained completely still as they ransacked her possessions before finally leaving. From her position, she couldn't see out into the corridor, but she could hear angry voices barking orders and the frightened cries of the hotel guests, who had still been in their rooms, being rounded up and forced downstairs.

Carefully lowering herself off the wardrobe, she started thinking about her strategy to get out of the hotel alive. First thing she was going to have to do was go out into the hallway and try to find out what had happened to the rest of her team.

Removing her office uniform of a knee length skirt and a plain white long sleeved blouse, she changed into black pants and t-shirt. She then pulled her hair into a tight bun to keep it out of the way, slipped her feet into her sneakers and checked her gun. Taking a deep breath, she cautiously opened to door to the hallway.

In the split second it took her to get a view of what was happening, she realized exactly how bad her situation was and shut the door silently. Armed men were going from room to room, herding the guests out in to the corridor and to the elevators. After the first burst of gunfire it seemed nobody else was being brave or stupid.

Knowing that to step outside would instantly turn her into another hostage, Pearce retreated back into her room to wait and, while she waited, she got out her cell phone biting down on her bottom lip when she saw there was no signal. With a silent curse, she returned her phone to her pants pocket and set about making more preparations for her attempt to escape. A butter knife wasn't much of a weapon, but it was better than being left with nothing if she ran out of ammunition for her gun.

Time passed quickly because within fifteen minutes of looking into the hall, there was total silence. Dani waited a few more minutes and then, with a pounding heart and adrenaline pumping through her body, she stepped out of her room to begin her own reconnaissance.

A relieved sigh escaped from between her lips when she discovered nobody was guarding the floor, so she began moving from room to room searching for anybody else who had managed to avoid capture. The eerie quiet was unsettling, but as an experienced CIA field agent, she didn't let it bother her.

The way they had cleared everybody from the floor told her the terrorists were obviously a well-trained group and, from what she had seen, they were well armed, too. Stopping by one open door, she bit back on a gasp at the sight of a man's bloody body laying just inside the room. The amount of blood splattered over the walls and pooled about his body told her whoever he had been, he must have put up a fight and she guessed it was this gunfire that had alerted her to the danger.

Doing her best to avoid stepping in the blood, Dani entered the room. The way she saw it, it was her duty to gather whatever intelligence she could to help save her own life and to pass on to her superiors, once she was free to be debriefed. She picked up a few of the bullet casings and dug a couple of the bullet fragments out of the wall. Using the camera on her phone, she took a few photographs to document the scene. Searching the room, she found the victims passport. He had been an American businessman. Making a note of his name, she left the passport where she had found it and moved on.

Three hours later and she had confirmed there was nobody else alive on her floor or, if there was, they were damn good at hiding and had no intention of being found. The next step was to try to find a way out to safety. Standing next to the elevators, she could hear the cars rattling on their way up and down the shafts, telling her the hostage takers were mostly likely moving people or equipment between the floors. Watching the numbers on the display, she could see they were going to thirtieth, which was the top floor, the twenty fourth, the twelfth and the ground. _What were they up to?_

At mid-day, the elevators stopped working, as did the hotel's air conditioning, and the lights all switched to the dim emergency lighting. It seemed the army had gotten around to cutting the power.

By dinner time, Dani's stomach was beginning to complain about the lack of proper food and sweat was rolling off her body due to the unrelenting heat. She had gone through eight bottles of water keeping hydrated. As the sky began to darken and she hadn't heard a sound from inside the hotel for over an hour, she decided it was time she made an attempt to get to one of the lower floors.

Standing in the hallway, she'd stared at the two elevators and then at the fire door, which led to the stairwell. Neither way out of the hotel was ideal; once traveling either down the stairs or risking clinging to the elevator cables, she would have nowhere to hide if she was discovered.

"You don't want to do that."

At the sound of a strange masculine voice so close behind her, Dani felt her heart leap into her throat. But she managed to at least outwardly look in control. Whirling round, she'd instantly brought her gun to bear on the stranger standing less than six feet away from her.

"The doors," he added helpfully, gesturing with his chin. "You don't want to open them. I was on the twenty third and I heard some of the guys running this show say they were setting booby traps to stop the hostages from climbing down the shafts." He paused, noticing as if for the first time the suspicious look in her eye. "Carson Halliday," he introduced himself.

"You're American?" she asked, her eyes locked on the gun hanging loosely in his hand at his side.

His smile had widened showing a line of perfect white teeth. "I actually work for you, Agent Pearce. I got here two days ago. I'm here to take over for Morgan."

It took her moment to remember that Agent Morgan, who had been one of the more experienced men assigned to her department, had been recalled to Langley and his replacement had only arrived two days ago. The one time she had previously seen Halliday, he had been dressed in a suit and tie, instead of cotton shorts and a muscle top and his untidy sweat soaked brown hair had been clean and neatly combed.

"You've been up to the twenty third?" She lowered her own gun, willing to show him some trust.

He nodded and shifted uncomfortably. "Ma'am, if we're going to talk, I'd prefer it if we could find somewhere a bit less exposed."

"Fine, let's go." She let him lead the way back along the hallway and into her own room.

Halliday went straight for the mini fridge in the corner of her room and got out the last two remaining bottles of water. After handing her one, he sat down on a chair.

"I run the stairs back home, so I thought I'd give it a try here. I was on my way back down when the shit hit the fan, so I hid out in a storage locker. I had to stay there for five hours before it was clear."

Dani sipped some water before asking, "You came up behind me, so there is another way to get between the floors?"

"Yeah, but it isn't very safe."

"Is it safer than getting shot on the stairs or blown up on in the elevator shaft?"

"Well, when you put it that way, ma'am."

In the dark, without the aid of flashlights, she'd followed him closely to one of the rooms at the far end of the hallway.

"They've got everybody locked down on the twenty sixth and seventh floors, or at least that's what I think I heard. My Urdu is a bit rusty."

"So a local terror group?" She hung back as he went out onto the balcony. There was no way out that way, they were too high to risk trying to climb down.

"I dunno, for sure. The only thing I know is that they were speaking Urdu. So, like I was saying, hostages are on the twenty sixth and seventh and they've wired the elevators to blow."

He showed her a fire hose he had cut away from its reel. "It's just long enough to drop us down one floor at a time. But it's risky cuz the army on the ground could chose to use us as target practice or -"

"Or we could drop down into a room full of angry terrorists," Dani finished his sentence.

He finished making a knot which would enable them to take the hose with them once they had dropped down to the floor below. His teeth flashed in the darkness as he grinned.

"Care to take the risk?"

Pursing her lips, Pearce thought through the plan. It was risky, but better than taking a chance in the elevator shaft. She kept to the shadows and peered out over the edge. Below them, searchlights were scanning the hotel walls. _If the soldiers on the ground below spotted them climbing down the wall, would they shoot?_

"Well, are we staying here, or are we going to do our job and escape?" Halliday asked.

She caught the tone which spoke of a devil-may-care attitude and it reminded her of another agent she used to know.

"Fine." She saw no other way and staying huddled in the dark waiting to be rescued just wasn't in her. "Let's give this a go."

_**()()**_

An hour later, they had dropped down three floors and were both tiring. The Indian army had spotted them, but thankfully seemed to have realized that not only they were prisoners trying to escape, but had also done nothing to draw attention to what they were doing.

Looking at her sore hands, Dani decided they needed to rest. "Let's stop here at least for a few hours; then we'll do a sweep of this floor and see if we can gather more intel. I'd like to take a look at the elevator shaft, see exactly what explosives they're using. It could be relevant."

Halliday freed the fire hose with a flick of his wrist, reeling in the heavy material as it fell. "You're the boss, ma'am."

"Dani, call me Dani." Drawing her handgun, she looked through the sliding door which blocked their way into the room. "Now's not the time for formality."

Joining her, Halliday drew his own weapon. "How're your lock picking skills – Dani?"

"Not good, yours – Carson?"

"If I hadda a clip or -"

Smiling, Dani freed one of the hair grips which were holding her hair in place. "That help?"

"Yes, ma'am."

As she watched the younger man work, it suddenly occurred to Agent Pearce that Carson Halliday was a very fit, athletic and resourceful young man, not the sort of man who normally settled for a career as a pencil pushing, fraud investigator.

_**Miami…**_

Sam's hand lifted, closed into a fist and delivered a sharp rap to the door before him. _He had faced down enemy combatants throughout the world from Iran to Columbia and all points in between, he could damn well face down one tiny possibly homicidal woman._ Without waiting for a reply, he boldly stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

She was standing with her back to him, her arms folded across her chest staring out of a large window.

"Hey," he called out not quite able to mask the nervousness in his tone. "The doc's gone. He left a prescription for ya."

He waited for her to reply, but apart from stiffening her shoulders, she gave no sign that she'd heard him. _This was awkward_.

"So, how are ya feelin?" He edged further into the room, coming up behind her, but not so close that he was within striking distance.

He could see her reflection in the glass: large, puffy eyes filled with sadness stared out at the view of the backyard below.

"I'm fine," she sniffed, her voice, even though it was little more than a whisper, sounded strained to Sam's ears.

He resisted the urge to reach out to her, knowing she would react badly to any sign of compassion from him. There was only one man who could make this right and he wasn't there.

"Fine, really? So that's why you look like you've just been hit by a truck?"

She drew in a deep shuddering breath and let it out slowly, her hand straying to cover her stomach.

"I'm pregnant," she blurted the words out, making him flinch at the pain-filled tone.

The silence after her announcement seemed to stretch on forever. He had thought he knew what to say. Deep down, he had hoped she wouldn't tell him, that she'd wait for Michael to come back and all he would have to do is keep her safe until then without either of them ever having to mention pregnancy or babies.

"Uh-huh," was his total contribution to what should, for any normal person in a loving relationship, be good news.

She turned slowly to face him; her complexion was pale and blotchy, no doubt from the tears which had left trails down her cheeks. She raised an eyebrow at him and, before his brain could tell his mouth to shut up, he asked.

"So – er – how?"

The look of sadness instantly changed to one of utter scorn and, without conscious thought, he backed up a step.

"I mean, I know _how_, but don't you guys –?" His words faded away as she regarded him through narrowed eyes daring him to continue. "Okay, so you're saying you're one of the one percent?" he finished lamely, wishing the ground would just swallow him up. _Mikey, I swear to God, you're going to owe me big time for this._

"It's none o' yar business, Sam," she ground out the words, her eyes flickering around the room. To Sam it looked like she was searching for something to hit him with.

"So, what do you want me to say? Congratulations?" As he spoke, he winced and half closed his eyes, expecting to see a small bony fist coming at his chin.

In some ways, he wished she would react. The whole atmosphere of suppressed violence had him concerned that she was building herself up for something truly destructive.

"So, what can I do for you? You need anything, want anything? Elsa can have-"

"What can _you_ do for me?" she snapped and began to pace in front of the window. "_What_ do I want? I _want _Michael back here _now!_" She stopped in front of him, her eyes blazing with fury. "Can ya do thot fer me?"

He retreated in the face of her anger, but she followed him, her voice becoming louder and more strident as she spoke. "He called me 'honey'! D'ya remember that? It means he's in trouble. If Card has him…. I could lose ham forever. So you get outta here, Get on ta yar buddy network, an' find out wha's happened to ham!"

She was pushing past him on the way of the door, her expression gone from broken and desolate to determined and furious.

"Hey! Hey, where do you think you're going, sister?" He caught hold of her and pulled her back, wincing as pain flared in his injured arm.

"While you sit and _talk_ to your federal buddies, I'm going to the Eden Roc, and -"

"Oh no you're not, uh-huh, lady. You go there an' Card catches you, you'll disappear quicker than you can say thrown into a secret prison."

She glared up at him and then pulled away, dragging her fingers through her tousled hair as she retreated back to the window.

"Look, give me a chance to see what I can find out before you go running off. Mike wasn't alone. Jesse went with him. Maybe he's out there looking for us or they're up to something and don't want us to get in their way. We gotta wait until we know what we're up against."

He watched as Fiona moved restlessly from the window over to the bed and slumped down to sit on the edge of the mattress. Her arms wrapped protectively around her waist as another cramp hit.

"D'ya know why _this_ is such a bad idea? Why Michael will go crazy when he finds out?" she looked up at him, while breathing through the pain.

Licking his lips, Sam nodded. In the spy game, you used whatever you had to, to get the job done, even if it meant threatening a man's family. Michael was going to see this baby as just one more thing that could be used to bring him down.

"D'ya know why me brothers can raise families and give them near normal lives?..…. It's because there's an unwritten rule... Ya don't go after a man's family... Ya don't make it personal, _unless_ ya _want_ ta make it personal."

Sam had no idea where she was going with this, so waited for her to finish what she had to say.

"Tom Card _will make_ this personal."

And his heart sunk; she was right. If Card or anybody else found out Michael had a child, they would be merciless in using it against him. But that didn't make what Fiona was hinting at right either. Taking a breath, Sam sighed and tried to come up with something to say which would sway her from this course.

"_We'll_ all be here for you, sister. Nobody, and I mean _nobody_, will hurt your baby. So, stop worrying about it and get some rest."

If he could just keep her from leaving the house, he thought he could maintain some semblance of control over the situation while he tried to find out what had happened to Michael and Jesse. One thing he was sure about. Without any solid evidence to prove Tom Card's guilt, killing the CIA agent would only bring world of hurt down on all of them.

**()()**

_**Barry...**_

Once he had gotten over the initial shock of seeing an old nemesis behind the wheel of the car he had been thrown into, Barry had actually relaxed back. Just maybe things weren't going to be as bad as he first thought. He'd had a rather unpleasant run in with this man years ago, but to be honest, just recently, he had been dealing with a lot of men who were far scarier.

There had been the whole matter of Grayson Miller's mercenaries nearly killing him and then the hours spent in a small room convincing federal agents that the sets of books he handed over were in fact his one and only originals.

As the Crown Victoria sedan moved slowly through the mid-afternoon traffic, Barry was already playing out in his mind how he expected this meeting to go. All he had to do was hold himself together and keep quiet. After all, hadn't the FBI agents said for his cooperation in locating all Grayson Miller's finances that they would protect him from prosecution?

Besides, as far as he knew, had done nothing to warrant the wrath of CSS Agent Jason Bly.

_**()()**_

_**And in the skies in between...**_

The CIA funded C37-A jet was two hours into the sixteen hour flight to Chatrapati Shivaji International Airport, flying high over the Atlantic Ocean heading eastwards. For the purpose of the mission, it was listed as the property of Dynamyne Industries, a cover which would hold up to even the most zealous customs and immigration officers' checks.

Inside the luxurious private aeroplane, Michael Westen was sat slumped in his seat, staring blankly at the file containing all the intelligence Tom Card deemed necessary for their job of extracting a CIA asset holding valuable information and rescuing a friend from a hostage situation.

He knew he should be studying the detailed reports, learning the geography of the city and, most of all, he knew he should be explaining to Jesse what the hell was going on. But instead of all that, his thoughts kept straying back to the woman he had left sleeping in a Tallahassee penthouse suite.

He had told her to lay low, to stay away from Miami. He had tried to tell her he was a lost cause. Turning his head, he stared out of the small window at the clear blue sky and the wispy puffs of white clouds below. He wondered if for one minute she had listened to a word he'd said or did she just grab Sam and hustle their wounded friend out of the hotel and into the first car she could steal to get them back to Miami as quickly as possible.

Closing his eyes, he swallowed down the sadness and, when he opened his eyes again, he tried to focus on the details of the report lying on his lap.

_Tom would have people hunting for her and Sam. If his old mentor found them – _Michael tried again to push away his fears, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to quell his anxiety.

_They knew they were in danger, Fiona had understood his warning. He had to concentrate on his own mission... The mission to have Tom Card dropped into the deepest and darkest hole the CIA had at its disposal._

Letting out a long frustrated sigh, he picked up the first page of the file resting on his lap and started to read.

"So." Jesse dropped down into the seat beside Michael, earning him a scowl which he chose to ignore. "I've been speaking with the _tactical support _your man Card's provided." He half turned to look along the fuselage to where two burly men sat guarding the weaponry. "It seems your old boss is some kinda hero... _These_ guys think he's _God_. You know how bad that is for us?"

Michael twisted around and took a casual glance at the men in question, sending them a friendly smile and a nod before turning back to Jesse.

"What were you expecting, Jess'? Just smile, do the job and everything will work out... I promise," Michael said, using his best reassuring tone.

There had been a time, not so long ago, when he had been just like those men. Hell, he had gone to Panama just on Card's say so and it had taken watching Brady Pressman die in fiery explosion to convince him that his old mentor really wasn't the man he thought he was.

"You still haven't explained what we're doin' here."

It was plain that Jesse's patience had run out, but it was equally plain to Michael that he couldn't just blurt out all the details with Tom Card's men sitting in such close proximity. So, he picked up a few pages from the pile and handed them to his friend

"We are extracting this guy, Sam Pandit, from the Landmark Hotel and getting him across Mumbai and through airport security, all without his bosses or the security services noticing he's gone."

As he spoke, he made a show of pointing out the details to Jesse and then continued speaking in a lower tone, hoping that the 'tactical support' wasn't listening too closely.

"Card has a whole dossier which makes me out to be a drug trafficking traitor who slaughtered a whole CIA tactical squad and you, Sam and Fiona are my willing accomplices. So, until we get hold of that recording you threw in a bush and we find somebody willing to believe our side, we've gotta smile and play nice."

"Uh-huh, I get it," Jesse nodded and spoke loudly. "So, you got the lay out in there?" Then, while Michael rustled the remaining pages as if searching for a diagram of the building, he replied quietly, "Cowley, _we're_ giving the recording to Bill Cowley. Remember?"

"Here we go." Michael waved the page Jesse requested and then said, "Card has already fed Cowley a whole pack of lies. We can forget him _unless_ we've got cast-iron proof of Card's guilt."

"Great – so what now?" Jesse let his head fall back against the head rest.

"Leave it to me... _I will_ get you all out of this. I promise."

At Michael's tone, Jesse sat back up straight and twisted in his seat so he could see the older man's face clearly. "And what about you? _We all_ get out of this _together_, right?"

Michael paused, before mustering a reassuring smile. "Sure, that's what I meant."

Then before Jesse could ask any more questions, he turned his head away to stare out of the window. There was no getting out for him because somebody out there had made the decision years ago to ruin his career. They had moved him around like a pawn on a chessboard, all to bring down Anson Fullerton and Management's covert organization.

He had one burning desire left. Once he was done with Card, he was going to find all the people who were involved in his burn notice, the ones that knew about it and didn't warn him, the ones that executed it and the ones that ordered it, every one of them. Some of them were in all likelihood dead, like Rayna Kopec, Phillip Cowan and Anson Fullerton, but at least a few of them had to be still alive.

He would find them and– He blinked and rubbed his hand roughly over his forehead. He would find them on his own, get his answers and, if he didn't like what they had to say-?

He smiled grimly at his faint reflection in the glass. He would end it or it would end him. One way or the other, it would _finally_ be over...


	15. Pulling at the Threads

**AIDEN.**

**A/N: _I want to say thank you to everybody who is reading and reviewing this story, I am sorry that I have been unable to send out personal replies but I do appreciate all of you who take the time to review. Also thanks go out to my brilliant friends Amanda Hawthorn, Jedi Skysinger and DaisyDay whose daily e mails brighten up my days. And of course an extra thanks to Jedi Skysinger for doing the Beta on this chapter, I don't know how you manage to fit in all the extra work I send you into your busy schedule._  
**

**Chapter Fifteen, Pulling at the Threads.**_**  
**_

Using a length of fire hose, Agents Dani Pearce and Carson Halliday managed to rappel down as far as the fifteenth floor of the Golden Palace hotel before the sky started to turn grey and the sun began to rise. Worn out and hungry, they made the decision to stop and rest. Without the cover of darkness, the risk of being seen by the bad guys was too great.

Before settling down in one of the empty suites, they went room to room making sure they were alone. Finding no sign of anybody else, they gathered up what food they could scavenge from the mini-bars and fridges and then settled into one of the suites which gave them a good view of the elevators and the door to the stairs.

"How are you holding up, Dani?"

Agent Pearce wiped a weary hand over her forehead, pushing her dark hair away from her face. "About the same as you, Carson." She tried to smile but the effort was too much. "We should take turns to get some sleep."

"Yeah, you want ta go first? I'll take another look around, see if I can find anything we can use."

She was tired and her arms ached from all the extra activity. Climbing down the outside of the high rise building had taken all her strength. Heat and lack of food had also weakened her far more than she was willing to admit. It had been years since she had been this active as a field agent. In recent years, with promotion came the safety of working for the most part out of an office.

"No, _you_ get some rest first. I'll wake you in four hours." She looked at her watch.

"You sure? I mean I don't mind."

"No, it's fine, Halliday. Get some sleep. I'll be watching the hall."

She just couldn't bring herself to trust the newest member of her team completely, at least not yet. He had only arrived a few days earlier and she was finding him a bit of an enigma. In his early thirties, obviously very fit, and with no old injuries to slow him down, she couldn't understand why he was stuck in the Mumbai office chasing down smugglers of counterfeit prescription drugs. She knew the real reason for _her_ transfer was punishment for helping Michael Westen find the owner of the specialized rifle that killed his brother. But she couldn't remember seeing any sort of black mark against Halliday's record.

Shaking her head, she slowly got to her feet and left the younger man to sleep while she went to keep watch on the hallway. If they got out of this siege in one piece, she was going to have to ask him what brought him to this particular task force.

_**()**_

While it was the middle of the night in Mumbai, it was the early afternoon in Miami and CSS Agent Jason Bly was sitting at his desk contemplating the home-made listening device he had just confiscated from Miami's premier money launderer, Barry Burkowski. As he turned it over in his hands, he recognized it as the handiwork of a certain disgraced spy and now he was wondering what he was going to hear when he pressed the play button.

After his failure in interrogating Fiona Glenanne, he had been sent back to the CSS and his own case load, but in his free time he had quietly followed up on what was going on in the CIA and in particular what Michael Westen was getting up to in his efforts to get his girlfriend out of prison.

As soon as he had heard of the deaths of Anson Fullerton and Nate Westen, he had sent for copies of the forensic and police reports. There had been absolutely no doubt in his mind the younger Westen had died because of something the older Westen was involved in and he had wanted to know what it was.

For a start, there was the question of why CIA agents were acting outside the law by running point on an operation against an American citizen on American soil. This question was followed closely by asking why they had allowed Nate Westen, who was not only a civilian but also appeared to have no combat or operational experience, to be involved in the arrest of a man considered to be a threat to national security.

It didn't take him long to come to the conclusion that the whole thing smelt of a CIA/DIA cover up and, when he got hold of the file on the official FBI investigation, he had realized it wasn't only the CIA/DIA who wanted the whole case to disappear. Somebody high up in intelligence circles was manipulating the official investigation.

To get his answers he had tried to set up an interview with the senior agent in charge Danielle Pearce, only to be told the agent had been reassigned to Mumbai, India, supposedly for being involved in industrial espionage and blackmail.

With all his leads drying up, he had been on the verge of showing his hand and bringing Westen and his team in for questioning when suddenly they all disappeared off his radar.

Then came the reports that Westen had massacred a CIA tactical squad operating in Panama. Apparently he was involved in trafficking drugs and had resisted arrest by the Panamanian Militia and the CIA. Bly had found it hard to believe that Westen was a drug smuggler; if it had been guns he might have given the reports some credence.

While he was digesting all this new and frankly incredible bit of intelligence, he'd received a phone call to report to the office of Congressman Bill Cowley.

The head of the Intelligence Oversight Committee had wanted to know why Westen, who until very recently had been considered the hero of the hour, was now back to being hunted down by every intelligence agency in both North and South America.

"I have it on good authority you are the man to come to if I want intelligence on Michael Westen?" Cowley had stared at him from behind his wide oak desk.

"Yes Sir," He had replied, doing his best to hide his surprise at this unexpected turn of events.

"What's your opinion on this?" Cowley handed him a file which had been sent to his office by Operations Chief Tom Card. "Read through it and get back to me ASAP."

He had taken the file back to his office and read through the information inside twice. It was filled with vague intelligence reports, incomplete communication logs and credit card receipts which could be something or absolutely nothing at all. There was also satellite photographs showing a scene of devastation, but they only showed the aftermath of the supposed arrest attempt and many of the pictures were so grainy it was hard to make out any details.

With what he already knew about the way Westen operated, Bly concluded the file had to be phony. Michael Westen did a lot of illegal and highly dangerous things but he was positive the spy wouldn't use lethal force against a CIA tactical squad unless he was backed into a corner and believed he had no choice.

It was at this point he had changed the focus of his investigation away from Michael Westen and onto the author of this latest Westen work of fiction, Tom Card. The Operations Chief had been Westen's training officer, and apparently a friend, so why was he setting up his protégé to be hunted down as a traitor.

It was while he was trying to make sense out of the bank account details Card had provided as proof of Westen's involvement in the drugs trade that a call came through from the team he had watching Card saying they had spotted Westen and Jesse Porter close to Card's hotel.

He had still been cursing an hour later when he realized he had missed his chance. Minutes before he had gotten there, Porter had been taken down by what witnesses described as two large men in black suits and nobody had seen Westen at all.

He wasn't sure why he chose to hang around by the Eden Roc. A nagging feeling in his gut had urged him to wait in case his team had missed something and then, as he was eating his lunch at a nearby café, he had spotted Barry Burkowski acting strangely.

Pressing the play button. Bly sat back to listen. A grin slowly spread across his face as he recognized the voice of Michael Westen.

_"Card is up on the ninth, Room 914. You should be able to tape our conversation from down by the marina... Good luck,"_

The sound of fast walking footsteps followed and ten a long silence, all except the faint sound of breathing. There was a door shutting and then a knock on a door followed by an almighty crash. Somebody had kicked in that door.

_"Hello there."_

_"Show me your hands, Tom."_

A door was slammed shut and Michael Westen kindly provided the name of his target. Unless Bly was very much mistaken, this all took place in Operations Chief Tom Cards hotel room.

_"Michael Westen, back from the dead. What are you going to do? Shoot me?... Hey! Hey! Listen to me, Michael, it was Grey who killed Anson. He was the one who killed your brother. He was the one who murdered Nate. He did that."_

_"You ordered him to. You're responsible,"_

Westen sounded ready to commit murder.

_"I never wanted Nate dead, I would have never taken that shot."_

Card was pleading for his life.

_"You tried to have me killed."_

Bly could hear the fury in Westen's tone.

_"And that was my own personal hell. It wasn't supposed to go like that. You are like a son to me."_

The CSS agent paled, the smile falling away to be replaced by a grim expression: Had Card just admitted to attempted murder?

_"You are out of your mind."_

And it seemed Westen was shocked by his old boss's admission too.

_"No, no. Michael, can't you see? We both know it is a big bad world out there. And guys like you and me: we….make….calls…. We get up in the morning and know the ends justify the means. Why do you think Anson had to go? I'll tell you why, he knew what I had going on in Yemen, in China, in Pakistan."_

Bly couldn't believe what he was hearing. He hurriedly began to scribble down notes.

_"You're talking about treason, Tom."_

_"Michael, it might be time for you to grow up, my friend,"_

"_You're not my friend!"_

_"But I was and I damn well can be again. Do you think I am the only one who had things they didn't want Anson Fullerton to bring out into the open? We can do things, great things, necessary things. You and me, working together …... Clocks ticking … What do you think? Can we… can we put all this behind us? Huh? Can we move into the future?"_

Card had to be insane; it was the only explanation that made any sense. This recording was like gold dust. If he managed to only confirm half of it, it would lead to at least a congressional hearing.

_"You tried to kill me. You came after us with a goddamn missile and a full tactical team. What makes you think I want to do anything but put a bullet in to your brain? My life has been destroyed. You killed my brother!"_

_"Jesus, kid, are you really this stupid? You still think this is all on me? Do you think I wanted to order Tyler Grey to take you out? I was following orders. Something you seem to have forgotten how to do."_

Card was sounding calmer now. But Bly's mind was reeling at the wider conspiracy the recording was exposing.

_"What? What are you saying? If this is just you trying to -"_

Michael was the one sounding desperate now. Then there was a sound of a scuffle and a body falling followed by.

_"ANSWER ME!"_

_"They've known for years there was a clandestine organization made up of former and burned spies running off the books operations. Do have any idea how long it took to get you into place to take them down? To make you a tasty little morsel they wouldn't be able to resist?"_

_"You did all this? Got me burned?"_

The sound of Card's mocking laugh came through the speaker and Bly winced.

_"No, not me. Well, not only me. I was brought into the loop when Rayna Kopec was assassinated... Please tell me you knew that was an assassination?"_

So the burn notice was a set up if Card was to be believed. He noted down the name Rayna Kopec. He would have to look up the details of her death. Card continued.

_"Your old boss nearly nailed them, but she made the fatal mistake of getting noticed. But she must have known they were closing in on her, because before she died, she passed everything she had gathered upstairs."_

_"Hey, you want to blame anybody for dragging you into all this? Blame her, kiddo. It was your name she passed up the line __'__Michael Westen is in the unique position to gain employment within the organization as I have reason to believe he is already being targeted for recruitment'."_

_"You're lying, trying to -"_

The recording suddenly came to an end and Jason Bly let out a long deep sigh. What he had in front of him was dynamite. If he could confirm the details - He quickly packed away the recording into an envelope and, along with his notes, dropped everything into his case. He needed to find Westen _fast_. He wasn't quite sure whose side the spy was now, that was nothing new, but Westen could answer a lot of questions.

It was time to put the screws to Barry Burkowski.

Walking into the interview room where Burkowski had been handcuffed to a table for the last three hours, Bly closed the door took his seat and then opened up a clipboard and selected a pen. Only then did he look at his prisoner.

"So, where can I find Michael Westen?"

_**()**_

Agent Bly wasn't the only person asking that question. Across Miami on Palm Island, Sam Axe was asking himself the same thing.

"Well, I think I've talked Thumbelina outta tearing South Beach apart looking for Mikey." Sam came down the stairs of Elsa's newly purchased million dollar fixer upper.

He felt absolutely beat; his arm was throbbing more than he was going to admit, especially to the beautiful woman standing before him.

"How about we go sit down on that nice comfortable couch and watch the news?"

Elsa slipped an arm around Sam's waist and walked with him, her free hand lightly resting on his torso. "You want to sit on the couch and watch the news?" she frowned up at him.

"Ahh…" He dropped down and pulled Elsa in close against his good side. "I promised Fi I'd try to find Mike for her. I thought the first step should be to see if anybody has been shot or blown up in a last coupla hours." He switched the TV onto WSVN. "If any Mikey-style retribution has taken place over night or this morning, then it ought to be on Channel 7 by now. Otherwise, I think it will be safe to say he's not completely gone off the reservation, at least not yet."

"Didn't you tell him I contacted Bill Cowley and there's no need for any of you to do anything?"

"I told him, but Mike has a few issues with Tom Card and he's pretty set on settling them himself. Don't worry about it, sweetheart." He turned slightly, doing a good job on hiding how much it hurt, and planted his lips firmly against hers in a deep kiss designed to take her mind off all that was happening.

When they came up for air, they were both breathing heavily, Elsa's lipstick was smeared over her kiss bruised lips and her perfectly groomed hair was tousled and tangled. To Sam, she looked more beautiful than ever and it took all his self-control to drag his eyes away from her face to check out the local news reports.

With Elsa's head snuggled against his chest, Sam tried to concentrate on the two female news anchors. After five minutes of listening to some inane chatter about a lizard, while he read the headlines running across the bottom of the screen, he came to the conclusion nothing destructive or bloody had happened in Miami that morning. Switching the TV off, he kissed the top of Elsa's head and then maneuvered himself out from under her shoulder.

"Sam?" Elsa asked.

"Whatever Mike's up to, he hasn't done it yet. Otherwise the Eden Roc woulda been plastered all over the news by now, so I'm guessing he hasn't gone there yet."

"Why would – Oh!" Elsa suddenly got what Sam hinting. "You think Michael would actually hurt Agent Card?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah I do. That's why I've gotta go find him. Maybe I can talk him inta giving Cowley a chance to make things right."

Elsa put a hand on Sam's good arm, her eyes filling with worry and concern. "Let me help. You should be resting. Adam said you could lose the use of your arm if you don't look after it." Her fingertips stroked down his arm.

"Thanks, baby, but it's too dangerous. Besides, Mike isn't going to be standing out in the open and if Card sees you…" A shiver went down Sam's back at the thought of Michael's old mentor getting his hands on the wonderful woman in front of him.

Looking over Elsa's shoulder, he caught sight of the bodyguard, David Geary, standing out in the hall doing his job of looking inconspicuous. "How about I take Geary with me? He can drive. I'll sit quietly and give him directions. How about that?"

Elsa sighed and pouted. Her hand which had been on Sam's arm was now resting over his heart. "You've been shot," she stated firmly.

"Sweetheart, I'll be careful." He gently cupped her cheek. "I just have to find Mike and bring him back here."

"You'll let David do all the work?" She stared into his brown eyes. "And no running around trying to save the world."

"I promise, baby." His hand went from her cheek to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair as he drew her into a deep passionate kiss. He was still finding it hard to believe she hadn't kicked him to the curb yet.

Breaking away, he took a step back and stroked his fingers over her cheek before turning towards where Geary stood.

"You up for this, fella?" Sam challenged Geary, knowing the man had been listening to every word.

The bodyguard grinned and nodded. "Whatever you want, sir."

Satisfied with Geary's reply, Sam turned once more to Elsa. "Now, you stay inside and keep the doors locked. I'm not gonna tell Fiona I'm leaving. Tinkerbell needs all the rest she can get. But you spot anybody nosing around, you get her up."

"We'll be fine, Sammy... This is my property. I have every right to be here... Besides this island has top flight security in place. We'll be perfectly safe."

With Geary leading the way, they left through the kitchen and into the garage. Elsa watched from the front door as they drove away in the car that she had sent for them to use at the airport.

The two men drove past the security gate and out onto the MacArthur Causeway, taking them back into Miami.

"So, where to?" Geary asked.

Sam had been thinking about where to start his search. The logical place to look was around the Eden Roc. The ex-SEAL had no doubt in his mind that his best friend intended to kill Tom Card. But, at three in the afternoon, Card was not going to be hanging out at the hotel; he was going to be busy covering his ass at the CIA field office. With everything that had happened in Panama, the Operations Chief was going to be kept busy just containing all the fall-out from the blown mission.

So with no intention of going anywhere near a building filled with CIA agents, and knowing Michael would not risk being caught near the Eden Roc until he was ready to act, Sam made the decision to check on Madeline Westen. If Michael was about to do something that could only end in a nationwide manhunt, he would probably make one last effort to reach out to his mother.

"You know the way to Shady Lane?" Sam asked.

"Ah-huh, you best give me directions... What's there?"

Sam didn't reply immediately. The last time he had seen Madeline Westen had been at her son's Nate funeral where she had made it very clear she blamed all of them for her youngest son's death. Each time Michael went to visit, he came away a little more broken.

"My friend's mom," he eventually answered, using a tone that let the other man know not to ask any more questions. "Take a right up ahead." He gave a small gesture as they neared the junction.

Ten minutes later they were driving along Shady Lane with Sam slouched down in his seat while both men kept an eye out for any CIA or FBI surveillance teams. Unable to spot any suspicious vehicles parked up on the street, Sam directed Geary to park up outside the Westen home. If Card didn't have people watching, it meant he had to have ears and probably cameras inside the house.

Digging into his pocket, Sam brought out one of the burner phones Elsa had brought with her to the Palm Island house. "Knock on the door. Maddy is maybe five six, sixty years old, she's got blond hair. Tell her you met at Disney World last year and hand her the phone and then say she might want to take a walk outside."

Sam was impressed, when Geary took the burner and got out of the car without asking any dumb questions. He watched as the man walked up the steps to the door and knocked loudly. He waited, but after a couple of minutes it was obvious nobody was in.

He expected the younger man to come back to the car, but instead Geary went around the side of the Westen home. Sam could only watch as Geary checked out the back of the house and then, when he saw the man walk back towards the road talking with Maddy's next door neighbor, Mrs. Reynolds, he bit back a curse.

Two minutes later, Mrs Reynolds went back into her own home and Geary came back to the car.

"Your friend's mom has gone to stay with her daughter in law in Las Vegas, a blonde, mid-twenties, gotta kid with her – a boy," he announced as he slipped into the driver's seat. "'parrently the daughter in law has been around a lot the last coupla days and then Miz Westen called up Miz Reynolds last night to let her know she would be away for at least a week."

Geary stopped talking and stared at his passenger's ashen complexion. "You alright, Mr Axe?"

Was he alright? He wasn't sure. Madeline had gone off to Las Vegas with Nate's ex-wife. Fiona was pregnant and Mikey was god only knew where. He prayed there were no more shocks waiting around the next corner.

"I'm fine." He stared straight out of the windshield and tried to think where to go next. "Let's go to Homestead. We've gotta storage locker there."

With a bit of luck, Michael and Jesse would have stopped there to arm themselves. If he could see what they had taken, maybe he could work out what they were up to.

_**()**_

To give Fiona some credit, she did try to rest. But every time she laid down, her mind went crazy, filling her head with thoughts of the line of enemies, both hers and Michael's, who would see the chance to hurt them through their child. Then, as if that wasn't enough, her thoughts turned to what would she do if Michael didn't come back. Or if he came back and didn't want anything to do with their baby. All these thoughts had her getting back to her feet and wanting to run out of the door.

When she heard the front door open and then a few minutes later close, she ran out of the bedroom and headed for the stairs. On the way, she passed a large window which over looked the driveway and caught a glimpse of a familiar black car driving away.

The feeling of betrayal planted by Michael's disappearance grew at the thought that Sam was now running out on her, too. Picking up speed, she reached the bottom of the stairs to find Elsa standing in front of the door. The older woman's eyes went large, but she held her ground. To Fiona, it looked as if she was trying to block her escape.

Slowing, and then coming to a stop, Fiona took a second to rein in her temper. "Was that Sam?"

"He's out looking for Michael," Elsa replied. "He wanted me to apologize for not telling you. We thought you were sleeping."

Elsa looked calm and at ease, but Fiona could see it was the veneer of a professional in the hospitality business. It was the same pose she probably used when forced to deal with disgruntled customers or employees.

"He took your security?" Fiona noted, her tone becoming more clipped as she became more impatient.

"Yes, Sam's arm is -"

"I have to go."

Elsa gulped, but instead of moving out of the way, she folded her arms over her chest and stood her ground. "Fiona," she smiled nervously. "Please, Sammy wanted you to stay here with me. Let's have a cup of tea and -"

"Elsa, please just move out of my way," Fiona sighed. She was so tired and her stomach hurt, but she had so much to do.

"Sam won't be long. You should stay so at least you can say goodbye." Elsa talked over her, but at least the woman had the good sense not to try to touch her.

"Elsa, I have to go" She pushed by the older woman, threw open door and stepped out into the sun.

"Fiona! Don't you care about your child?" Elsa blurted the accusation out without thinking.

At the older woman's words, Fiona came to a sudden stop, her body rigid with ice cold anger. Turning around slowly, she levelled a look at Elsa which would have sent anybody that knew her heading for cover.

"Wha' d'ya say?" The Irish was back in her accent, but it wasn't the pleasant lilt of romance novels, it was the harsh snarl of a Northern Ireland activist about to start a fight.

Elsa was as white as a sheet, but she held her ground. She was doing this for Sam and she also could guess what the younger woman was going through. Taking a deep shuddering breath, she set about defending herself.

"The doctor, Adam, he was concerned that the cramping pains you are suffering from are a warning sign you could miscarry. It was why he wanted you to rest. He said he tried to tell you, but he wasn't sure how much you were taking in."

The look of anger slipped away and one of Fiona's hands went to her belly, her head beginning to reel at the sudden change of emotion from anger to fear. She saw the look of fear on Elsa's face and felt sick that she was the cause of it. She felt a sudden need to explain herself.

"I'm doing this to keep the baby safe. I have to -"

Elsa stepped forward rapidly as Fiona appeared to sway.

"I can't pretend to understand what you're going through, but I remember what is like to be scared and pregnant," Elsa spoke softly. "You have to follow the doctor's orders on this and take things easy. Come back inside and rest. You'll be no good against the people who are hunting you if you're incapacitated."

Fiona let her shoulders slump. As much as she hated to have to admit it, Elsa was right. At the moment, she wouldn't stand a chance if she ran into any of Card's CIA agents. She sighed and nodded, accepting her new reality.

If she didn't slow down and start thinking before acting, she was going to get herself and her baby killed. This was no longer just about her and even though she had been horrified to discover she was pregnant, she couldn't bear the thought of losing what was probably going to be her only chance to have a child.

"You're right," she nodded grimly, allowing the older woman to guide her back into the house.

"That must have been hard to admit." Elsa closed the door and followed Fiona into the living space. "You put your feet up and I'll make a pot of tea. I brought some with me when Sam said you both needed a place to hide out." Ever the gracious hostess, Elsa went to make the drink while Fiona did as Elsa suggested and lay down on the couch.

She hadn't planned on falling asleep, but as soon as her head hit the arm rest on the couch, Fiona's eyes closed and her breathing slowed and deepened. It was as if everything she had been through in the last year finally caught up to her and her mind and body weren't going to give her a choice any more.

Elsa took her time in the kitchen, taking the opportunity to settle her own nerves at facing down the fierce little Irish woman now resting in the living room. Up to now, she never thought she would have anything in common with any of Sam's friends, but she had seen something very familiar in the younger woman's face: fear of the unknown.

Placing the teapot, a small jug of milk and bowl of sugar on a tray along with two cups, she took a deep breath and headed into the living room. Walking into the room, she smiled softly and placed the tray carefully down on the coffee table.

Fiona was fast asleep, one arm flung across her eyes while the other arm was wrapped about her waist. Turning, Elsa went to where she had put all the bags David Geary had carried into the house for her. Sorting through one of the bags, she brought out a large red blanket which she laid over the sleeping woman.

Taking a seat by the window so she could keep an eye on anybody approaching the drive, Elsa took out her cell phone and stared at the face. What she wanted more than anything was Sam Axe safely back at her side. She thought about calling him, just to hear his voice to reassure her he wasn't in danger. Her finger brushed over his number on the speed dial but she didn't give in to her desire. However scared she was, she was going to trust her man to come back to her in one piece. Those two little words brought a wistful smile to her lips. Samuel Axe was indeed _her man_.

_**()**_

While Sam Axe was driving towards Homestead, the men he was trying find were thousands of miles away, coming in to land at Chatrapati Shivaji International Airport.

As the C37-A private jet came into land, Jesse Porter straightened his tie for maybe the ninth time in five minutes and pulled at the cuffs of his shirt trying to get the sleeves to hang comfortably inside his cheap CIA suit. But it wasn't his ill-fitting clothing that was the real cause of his agitation.

What had Jesse Porter worried was the man sitting next to him, who was staring moodily out of the window. Michael Westen was bringing a whole new meaning to the word stoic. After going through the details of their mission _once,_ the older man had retreated into silence.

This was the man who had in the past stayed up all night obsessing over a minor element of a insignificant job. During the whole sixteen hour flight, Michael had spent more time staring out of the window or sleeping than he had studying their mission brief.

"You okay, Westen?" he spoke softly, his eyes flickering to where Card's men were sorting out the baggage that would be accompanying them.

"Yeah, fine," Michael replied smoothly without even bothering to look around.

Sighing, Jesse slumped back in his seat. Until they were somewhere more private he couldn't do anything else. Biting down on his lower lip, he just hoped Michael was playing some sort of game on Card's watch dogs and, once they were alone, the spy would fill him in on what he was up to.

As soon as the plane came to a stop and the doors opened, Michael was on his feet and leading the way outside into the dull light of a Mumbai evening. Leaving the aircraft, they were hurried over to Customs and Immigration, where it appeared that the way had been greased for them to be fast tracked through all the security checks. After nothing more than a cursory check of their passports, visas and the paperwork entitling them both to carry weapons, they were sent on their way.

It wasn't long before they were traveling at dangerous speeds away from the airport in a local taxi. After little more than ten minutes, they were pulling up outside a long, squat two-storey building with the name "Landmark Hotel" emblazoned over the all-glass double doors.

Inside, they booked in and handed over their passports to the very helpful and friendly English speaking receptionist, who directed a bellhop to show them to their room. Once they were alone, they quickly checked out the small twin beds and the en-suite room.

Finding no listening devices or cameras, Jesse finally felt the time had come to find out what was going on with his friend. It was as he was about to demand some answers that Michael switched on the small TV attached to the wall.

The sight on the screen held both men's attention:the entrance of the Golden Palace hotel floodlit and surrounded by the Indian army and police. Jesse could only watch as he noted Michael's lips thin and the edges turn down while the reporter at the scene explained the day's events.

"They're saying that the army attempted a breech early this morning and two soldiers are dead, three more were wounded before they were driven back... In retaliation, the terrorist group executed ten hostages, all were foreigners but no other details are being released," Michael translated. He fixed the younger man with a hard, penetrating stare. "I think we should leave Card's thief here for now and go check out the hotel first."

Jesse's mind flashed back to the two nights he had spent alone working with Dani Pearce. That first night had been all business. He remembered being impressed at the level of focus she brought to an assignment and had told her so. The following evening, when she put her whole career in jeopardy to help Michael find his brother's killer, one celebratory drink had led to another as had one chaste kiss led eventually to more passionate acts in her hotel bedroom.

For the first time in a very long time, Jesse felt a jolt in his chest and he found himself wanting nothing more than to get to the Golden Palace hotel as quickly as possible to find out what had happened to Dani Pearce.

"Damn straight," he muttered, as he joined Michael in changing out of the business suit and into some dark-colored clothing. "Time to put some Westen mojo on this situation."

Ten minutes later, they were walking out of their room, carrying a black canvas bag filled with all the weapons which had been concealed in their suitcases.

"So, whatcha think Card will do if he finds out we're not doing this by his playbook?" Jesse asked as they walked out through a side door which took them out into the hotel parking lot.

Michael was focused on deciding which of the ten cars sitting in the lot he was going to help himself to, so when he spoke, his tone was flat and cold.

"If he wants his thief back and the piece of tech he stole, he'll do nothing," he advised as he moved towards the vehicle of his choice.

Jesse followed dutifully behind, surprised by his friend's confidence until Michael finished his thought, that is.

"At least not until we get back anyway."


	16. The Extraction of Dani Pearce

**AIDEN.**

**A/N: _I'd like to thank everybody who has left reviews for this story and I am sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. I think this chapter has more action sequences packed in than I've written before so it took me a little while to keep it flowing and hopefully making sense. I hope you all enjoy._  
**

_**I'd also like to offer a special thanks to Jedi Skysinger and Amanda Hawthorn who patiently read through the many drafts, and another extra special thanks to Jedi Skysinger for taking the time to BETA this chapter for me.**_

**Chapter Sixteen, **

The Extraction of Dani Pearce.

Getting information on the status of the multiple hotel sieges was, as far as Michael Westen was concerned, the easy part of their self appointed mission. But before they could complete that task, they had to travel through the crush of humanity which filled the main roads leading into the business district of Mumbai.

It wasn't only the level of traffic, it was the chaos of the Indian road system as cars, motorbikes, bicycles, and even horse or donkey driven carts competed for space on the overcrowded streets.

The sounds of car horns were almost drowned out by the shouts of the pedestrians and other motorists. Then there were groups of enterprising traders, who walked amongst the queuing vehicles banging on car windows in their attempts to sell food, drinks or trinkets.

"This is going to take forever," Jesse murmured.

The tension in the vehicle was reaching the breaking point, as Michael's fingers continuously flexed around the steering wheel and his piercing gaze stared through the windshield as if he could clear the road with the power of his mind.

Muttering under his breath, Jesse climbed out of the car and used his superior height to try to see if there was an end in sight to the jam.

What he saw was a military road block. Probably the first of many, Jesse thought.

With terrorists over running three hotels filled with visiting tourists and business people from throughout the world, the army was doing its best to control the flow of people within the commercial center.

He ducked his head inside the vehicle. "There's a roadblock up ahead."

"G-reat," Michael answered and switched off the car engine. "We'll have to find another way through... Grab the bag."

Ditching their stolen car in the middle of the worlds biggest traffic jam, Michael and Jesse made their way along the back streets on foot until they found a spot where they could slip past the road block and the first line of patrols.

Michael knew exactly where he wanted to be and, with the street map in one hand, he led the way through the narrow streets surrounded by high rise buildings on either side. Eventually they came out on a small square, the area filled with news trucks from throughout the world and the cafés, bars and restaurants were almost at the bursting point with news personnel, all waiting for the big break in the story of the siege of Mumbai.

After hiding the bag filled with their weaponry under a nearby dumpster, they entered the square and split up; there was no need to discuss a plan. Both men knew they needed to gather the most up to date intelligence on what was happening in the Golden Palace Hotel. So, with that in mind as they made their way across to the row of bars and cafés, they helped themselves to clipboards and sets of earphones from the backs of the news trucks and press badges from an unsuspecting camera man whose badge came unclipped when Jesse brushed passed and an assistant press officer who was so busy rushing back to his motel room he failed to notice Michael's sticky fingers removing the badge from his jacket pocket.

While Jesse stuck to his American accent, playing the enthusiastic newbee, going from group to group in one bar seeking out all the gossip he could from any English speaking crews he came across, Michael changed from American, to Russian, British and German depending on who he was talking to.

After an hour and a half, Jesse had dried up on sources of fresh information and started walking back towards where they had left the guns when he suddenly came to a stop, his mouth falling open before he could stop the reaction. He was watching as Michael sat at a table chatting amiably with what appeared to be an Indian Army Colonel. The two men were still smiling when, ten minutes later, Michael got to his feet, shook the colonel's hand and then moved away.

Walking towards Jesse, Michael ditched the clipboard he had been carrying and the fixed, cheesy smile he was wearing slowly slipped away. Clapping the younger man on the back, Michael strode past him with a determined look on his face.

"Some time in the early hours of the morning, the army is going to mount a coordinated attack on all three hotels. They plan on ending the sieges regardless of the cost of life." Jesse grimaced at the news.

"The execution of hostages and pressure from the world governments has pushed them into bring the situation to an quick end. Both our guys and the Brits are pressurizing the Indian government to be allowed to bring in our own special forces to end the sieges."

"He just told you all that?" Jesse asked. He knew Michael was good, but nobody was that good.

"No, not in so many words. But I told him I was from Sky News and wanted to set up an interview for tomorrow morning. He told me he was confident that by eleven AM, he would have some good news to report to the whole world."

Michael flashed a knowing smirk in the younger man's direction.

"A few drinks later, he let it slip about all the pressure he's under because of the failed rescue and the rising death toll. This guy needs to put an end to this as quickly as possible, _before_ he gets replaced. You can fill in the rest yourself."

Dragging out the bag from it's hiding place, Michael led the way towards where they could see the beams of helicopter searchlights circling.

"So, do we have a plan?"

"Same as before, Jess. We go in and bring Pearce out."

"You always make it sound so easy."

Michael didn't reply; his face was set in grim lines as he picked up speed. Both men were now jogging down the side streets, only stopping when it was necessary to hide from the army patrols trying to encourage people to stay off the streets.

_**()**_

Getting past the outer ring of patrols guarding the siege zone had been the easy. There simply wasn't enough men to guard the whole of the perimeter, so slipping by them was just a case of using a little common sense and patience.

But the closer they got to the hotel, the more army personnel they had to hide from. It was slow going, but eventually they got close enough that they could see the hotel bathed in floodlights. In their way was a cordon of soldiers on the ground, a helicopter circling overhead and a wide open, exposed plaza which they would have to cross before they reached the hotel.

Kneeling down, Michael unzipped the bag holding their supplies and brought out a block of C4. Using his combat knife, he began cutting the block into smaller pieces.

"Whatcha got planned, Mike?" Jesse squatted down next to the older man as he began to attach timers to two pieces of the explosive.

"We need to get past that guard post and we also need the look outs in the hotel and the guys in the helicopter to be looking some place else, too. This is the quickest and easiest way I know to do it. While everybody is looking at the smoke and flames, we'll get across that open space and inside."

Jesse paused, as if deep in thought. "This is getting to be a habit, you know."

Michael looked up, his expression wordlessly asking the question.

"Visiting new places and blowing the crap outta them," Jesse filled in the blanks.

"We need to draw those men away from their post," Michael replied flatly.

"Hey, don't worry about it. It's just what I wanted to do when I got up this morning, be part of another international incident. I mean, what's it been now, three, four days, since the last one?"

Michael looked at him as if he was explaining something to a small child. "Well, you'll be disappointed then. Because whatever happens here, it definitely _won't_ become an international incident. Card will disavow us and we'll get to rot in some Indian high security prison for the rest of our lives."

"Gr-eat... Hey, about that deal you made with Card, you never..."

"Later, Jess," Michael cut the younger man off before he could ask any more questions. "Just be glad I'm not blowing up your Porsche this time," he added with a grin, giving Jesse a flash of his old self.

"But -" Jesse's words died on his lips as Michael shot him a cold hard look, the good humor of a moment ago gone as quickly as it had appeared.

"This a war zone, Jesse – if you don't –."

"I'm not backing out. I'm just not a fan of committing an act of war in a foreign country," Jesse back tracked under the icy cold stare coming his way. Not for the first time, Jesse wished Sam or Fiona was there with them. This new scary intense Michael Westen was hard to keep up with.

"It'll be fine," Michael spoke with sincerity oozing from every syllable. "Go keep watch on that guard post while I plant these."

While Jesse kept watch, Michael disappeared into the darkness to set up the two small charges, which would hopefully draw off the the guards.

When he returned, Michael was breathing heavily from his run half way around the perimeter. "C'mon, follow my lead."

He stepped out into the open and began to run towards the guard post as if in a panic, calling out in English and waving the press badge he had stolen earlier.

"Hey! Hey! Help! Yo! There's men back there –" He pointed back the way they had come and, just as he pointed, an explosion went off, followed by a second one over to the left of where they stood.

The helicopter was the first to change its course to fly over the bomb site. A fraction of a second later, the six soldiers rushed by Michael and Jesse, leaving two men behind to guard the witnesses.

As soon as the patrol moved out of sight, Michael reacted, his fist landing a hard blow to one soldier's throat. Then, as that man began to drop, he turned on the second man, who was bringing his gun up when Michael snatched the weapon away, reversed it and delivered a blow to the man's head with the stock. With the second man crumpled in a heap, he turned back to the first man, swinging the rifle stock to knock him out, too.

Jesse stood rooted to the spot. He had seen Michael pull off similar moves countless times before during the last three years, but he had seen a subtle difference this time and it unsettled him more than he liked to admit. Each move had been done harder, faster and with a certain cold-hearted viciousness that he was unused to seeing. The blow to the throat could have easily killed the soldier and Michael didn't even seem to care.

"What?" Michael looked up from where he was dragging the fallen men out of sight.

"Nothing." Jesse licked his suddenly dry lips, wondering just how long it was going to be before Michael Westen completely lost control.

"Good, c'mon, those little explosions aren't goin' to give us long."

With the guards out of sight, Michael and Jesse ducked low and sprinted across the plaza until they were in the relative safety of the dark shadows against the hotel wall.

Continuing to move swiftly, they hugged the wall until Michael spotted a side door. Coming to a stop, they took a second to catch their breath and at the same time screwed silencers onto the barrels of their hand guns.

"Keep watch," Michael ordered. Retrieving his lock picking tools from his pocket, he knelt down and set to work.

As soon as he felt the lock give, he held the door closed and then opened it just a fraction of an inch. If he had been trying to keep people out of a large building with a lot more exits than he could cover, he would have laid booby traps.

He wasn't disappointed as he caught sight of a thin piece of wire attached to the door handle on the inside.

"Jess, come here. I need you to hold the door." When the younger man took hold of it, Michael let go and glanced at his friend. "There's a grenade on the other side with a piece of wire attached to the pin."

Michael slipped his arm through the narrow gap and, while they both held their breaths, he managed to catch hold of it while Jesse kept the door steady and, with his free hand, cut the wire from the door.

Letting out sighs of relief, they slipped inside the hotel. Michael freed the grenade from the wire and put it into his pocket. Ahead of them was a long dark hallway with no hiding places. If they were discovered, their only hope of living through the experience would be if they were the better shots.

"You ready for this, kid?" Michael asked.

_Kid? Say what? _Jesse paused, as he looked back at the older man seeing an eagerness for battle glowing in the bright blue eyes staring back at him that he had never seen before.

"Yeah, let's get this done," he replied, pushing his misgivings about his friend's state of mind as deep as he could.

With their silenced handguns leading the way, the two men moved swiftly along the corridor which mercifully remained quiet. Reaching another door, Michael pressed his ear against the solid wood barrier. Unable to hear anybody on the other side, he tested the handle and felt the catch release.

Without having to speak a word, he saw Jesse was ready and waiting for him to open the door, so Michael slowly eased the door open, allowing Jesse to check for another booby trap. Cautiously, the younger man took a peek through the narrow gap and gestured that it was all clear. Without wasting any more time, they moved on.

Making their way deeper into the hotel, they went through several more doors the same way until they reached a set of wide, half-glass double doors which lead into the hotel lobby. Taking a risky glance through the glass, both men found themselves staring at a row of dead bodies laid out in front of the doors.

Michael stared at the scene, noting the victims were all male and each had been shot in the head. He had seen similar scenes many times before, but it wasn't something that could be just pushed aside. It was a grim reminder of the sort of people they are about to take on.

He hadn't forgotten what the Indian Colonel had told him. There were approximately twenty heavily armed and well trained terrorists ahead of them, with one hundred mostly scared and traumatized hostages being used as human shields. The decision to leave the bodies blocking this door way had probably been done as a grim warning to anybody attempting to flee.

Tearing his eyes away from the grisly sight, he suddenly remembered the younger man at his side. The ex-counter intelligence agent had never served in the armed forces; he had been recruited straight out college and, after a short career as a field agent, had joined counter-intelligence and been put behind a desk. Jesse had probably never seen executed bodies laid out like the ones before them.

"You okay?" Michael asked in a low voice.

Jesse swallowed thickly and glanced over to the older man, reading the concern on his face. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Good... There's another grenade. It looks the same as the rest. You want to do the honors or shall I?" Michael held out the small set of wire cutters.

Taking a deep breath, Jesse steadied his nerves and took the cutters. He knew Michael was giving him the chore of disarming the grenade to take his mind off what was waiting for them on the other side of the door and he was grateful.

With this third device disarmed and the grenade added to the collection in their pockets, they slipped through into the lobby. Once inside the large airy reception area, they sank down until they were flat against the cold marble floor, the sound of voices letting them know they were no longer alone.

Crawling on their bellies past the bodies of the terrorists' victims, they made for one of the many tall, thick in diameter marble columns which decorated the area. Over to one side next to an L-shaped desk made out of rich, dark-colored panelled wood, three heavily armed men stood talking in animated tones.

Michael cocked his head to one side, listening intently to the rapid speech of the three men. Frowning, he tried to follow a conversation in a language he hadn't used or heard spoken for years.

"They're talking about the bombs that went off outside and that maybe they have some supporters ready to join in their fight," Michael whispered to Jesse, letting the younger man know the guards had no idea they were there.

Dropping down low again, using the abundant foliage from all the pots of shrubs and small trees that were scattered around the lobby for cover, they made their way towards the hotel restaurant where they could hear more low voices and the occasional whimpering cry.

Reaching the waist height wall which separated the restaurant from the lobby area, they could just make out the sight of a large group of hostages huddled close together at the far end of the room. After seventy two hours being held captive, the initial panic had gone and now they were all quiet and subdued, apart from talking amongst themselves in low murmurs.

At first, they could only spot one guard watching over the group, a young man dressed in the same manner as the three by reception, in a blue and white track suit, the jacket unzipped to reveal a bullet proof vest.

Jesse lightly tapped Michael's arm and pointed to the bar area and the door which could be seen at the back that probably led into the kitchen. Michael grinned, happy to see Jesse had managed to pull himself together and was functioning normally. Trying to keep watch on the four terrorists, they made their way over to the bar and through the door into what turned out to be a large storeroom. At the other end was another door which took them into the kitchen area.

Both men's nerves were being stretched close to breaking point as they searched the large room with shelves crammed with so many metallic utensils that one false move, one falling saucepan or serving spoon, would alert everyone on the floor to their presence.

Breathing a long sigh of relief when they were satisfied that the room was secure, Michael brought out a set of binoculars and looked out of the porthole window in the kitchen door. His hope that Pearce was one of this group dashed as he carefully studied each face. Then, as he went to lower the lenses away from his eyes, something caught his attention. Seconds later, with his worse fears confirmed, he handed the binoculars to Jesse.

Directing the younger man where to look he watched his friend's mouth settle into a hard line at the sight of two of the hostages sitting together, slightly apart from the rest, two men with fear-filled expressions and taut body language. Both were wearing vests made out of small blocks of C4 wired together and connected to a box with a red flashing light.

"_Sonuvabitch!_ We have gotta get them out of here," Jesse breathed out the words, turning to face his friend only to see Michael looking back at him as if he is crazy.

"We find Pearce first," Michael announced firmly. "She's our primary. If we free the hostages, we risk alerting the terrorists to our presence."

"Mike, there are women and kids in there... _We __have_ to get them out... Look, if we clear this floor, we'll know the way out is safe." He tried to appeal to his friend's tactical side.

"There are four of them Jesse. That's two to one. They get off one shot, or get a chance to use their comms and we announce to everyone on the upper floors that we're coming." Michael turned away. He had seen the way over to the stairwell and it wasn't being guarded.

"Mike, c'mon man, _look at them._ Those are innocent civilians in there. _We have to help them_."

Michael stared back at his friend, ready to tell him they were only there for Pearce, to repay the debt that had got her transferred to the other side of the world. They were definitely not there to try and work miracles. Taking on so many hostiles was asking to get killed.

"_Those of us that can still prioritize are here for you, Jesse." _

Fiona's words came back to haunt him, hitting him like a punch to the gut, reminding him of another time he was going to brush away a group of women facing a life of slavery at the hands of a Yakuza gang. It didn't help that Jesse was giving him the same look of disappointment now as he had that day, too.

"We can do this, Mike... There's only four of them. Hell, it's as good as a fair fight. We've taken on worse odds before." Jesse had seen the crack in the older man's resolve and pushed harder.

Pursing his lips, Michael sent the younger man a look which he normally reserved for those who had truly annoyed him before turning back to study the hostages, he had already noted at least one very frightened woman in the group and a couple of young children who could easily alert the guards to their presence before they were ready.

He shook his head "No, the risk is too high. You've just got to face it, some people li-" he stopped, paling as he realized what he was about to say. Swallowing thickly, he took one more look into the restaurant.

"Fine, we'll do things your way," he announced.

Jesse wasn't sure what brought about the sudden change of heart. He had been convinced Michael was about to order him to abandon the hostages to their fate. Wiping a hand over his head, the younger man was getting tired trying to keep up with his friend's rapidly changing moods.

"Jesse, if we're doing this, pay attention. The way I see it, we have to get rid of the explosives first and _then_ take out the guards. There's just too many of them to know which one has the trigger switch. Which means we've got to trust all those frightened people in there to remain calm and not expose us while we disarm those vests."

"Okay, so give me the 411... If we each take one vest a piece, we can work faster," Jesse answered eagerly.

Raising the binoculars again, Michael studied the detonators and the wiring as best he could in the dim light. "Okay, they look pretty straight forward... You've just got to cut the wire between the detonator and the transmitter."

"Great, sounds simple enough." Jesse began the open the door, then froze. "Damn."

Joining his friend, Michael watched as the terrorist who had been sitting on a chair guarding the hostages, but in truth had been close to dozing off, was joined by a second man they hadn't noticed before. If the two men start taking their guard duties seriously, getting the hostages free would get a lot more complicated. Seconds tick by as both men waited to see what the guards were going to do.

"We can still do this," Jesse hissed, seeing his chance to save the hostages slipping away.

Then, much to Michael and Jesse's relief, the second guard moved on, walking swiftly towards the toilets.

_It's a risk,_ Michael knew, but there was no other way. They couldn't work on freeing the hostages while there was a guard on either side of their position.

Gesturing for Jesse to move towards the nearest hostage wearing an explosive vest, the older man pointed towards the toilets and then at himself to let his friend know what he was about to do.

Nodding his understanding, Jesse crept over to the where the hostages were sitting, weaving in and out of the tables and chairs, until he appeared at the edge of the group. Thankfully, the first couple of people he came into contact with were not the jumpy types and before long he was amongst them.

With Jesse working on the first explosive vest, Michael made his way along the back wall until he reached the toilets. Pushing the door open, he slipped through the narrow gap he had created and silently entered the room.

The terrorist didn't know what had hit him. All he heard was a sudden rush of feet and then, before he could turn, his head was slammed into the hard surface of the tiled wall. As he fell forward, stunned and bleeding from a cut above his eye, Michael delivered a second blow to the man's head to make sure he wasn't going to wake up any time soon.

Cable tying and gagging the man, Michael dragged the limp body into one of the stalls. Quickly removing the terrorist's AK-47 and Beretta handgun, Michael added them to his own collection and then completed a quick search of the man's pockets, looking for anything that would identify which group they were dealing with.

Finding nothing of value, Michael closed the door to the stall and left the toilets as quietly as he had entered. He was pleased to see that the guard at the table by the entrance to the restaurant hadn't moved and Jesse had already disarmed the first vest and was moving on to the second.

Heading stealthily across to where Jesse was working, Michael could pick up on the atmosphere of eager anticipation replacing the earlier despair. As soon as the hostages spotted him, the tension went up another notch and a few were looking around, searching for the rest of what they thought was a full rescue team.

Feeling a hand touch his arm, Michael turned to find two men kneeling beside him. One was in his fifties and overweight and the second was a skinny guy, wearing glasses and the classic stoop of a man who had spent too much time sitting behind at a desk.

"We're CIA. I'm Sherman and he's Kurt," The older man whispered. "We're here as part of an anti-counterfeiting task force... Can we help?"

Michael looked up, sharply assessing each man.

"You work with Pearce?" he demanded.

The older man nodded, eager to be a help. "She's our boss, she eats up in her room in the morning. She must be -"

Michael cut him off by handing him the fallen guard's AK-47 and the younger man the Beretta handgun.

"Do you really want to help?" Both men nodded eagerly and Michael grinned back, hoping he was making the right decision. "Okay, hold back when we get the rest of the hostages out and you can stay and give us a hand."

Sherman glanced around nervously, suddenly realizing that the two heavily armed men were not part of a larger team. "Where's the rest of your team? Who are you? SEALs? Delta?"

But Michael was already moving away.

"How's it going, Jess?"

"Nearly done, what are we going to to do about that guy?" He gestured towards the guard still sitting at the table.

"Leave him to me," Michael growled.

"_Mike!"_ Jesse hissed. "Dammit!"

He realized the older man had taken the play out of his hands and all he could do was quietly prepare the hostages to get to safety.

"Okay, people, let's keep this _real_ quiet."

Michael had shed his guns and was standing in plain sight, his hands open and a nervous smile on his face.

"Er – hey. Can we talk? Do you speak English?" He kept his body language, expression and tone non-threatening as he edged closer to his target.

The guard snatched up his gun and got to his feet. "Sit down." Michael mentally translated the Urdu being spoken as the guard's rifle was thrust in his direction.

Michael came to a stop but didn't back down. "I don't understand, p-please, I just need a few words."

He could see the guard wavering as he risked a nervous glance back to where his colleagues still stood just out of sight by the reception desk. He had to get the guard to come closer and quickly, _before_ the man realized he was guarding two more hostages than he was supposed to be.

"I just want to talk. Please, I have something to tell you, something important." Michael added a whine to his voice, and was rewarded for his apparent weakness by the guard marching towards him with a menacing scowl on his features.

As soon as the rifle barrel came close enough for him to grab, Michael repeated the move he had used earlier, snatching the gun and then using it to put the terrorist down with a well placed blow to his forehead.

Hearing hushed whispers of concern coming from the hostages, Michael sent a glare in Jesse's direction as the younger man tried to keep the group calm. Thankfully, they weren't making enough noise to be heard over the voices of the three remaining terrorists at the other end of the ground floor.

"Okay, folks, I'm going to show you the way out now. Come on, follow me. Just remember what I said, you tell those Indian army guys some _guests_ are fighting back and they should give us sometime to do our job."

Michael watched as Jesse began to lead the hostages out of the restaurant, taking them back through the kitchen and along the route they had used to get inside.

Satisfied that the younger man would take the hostages as far as the long hallway before sending them the rest of the way on their own, Michael turned his attention to the next task in securing their escape route and the two rather nervous looking CIA fraud investigators.

"C'mon, let's get this guy back with his friend."

By the time Jesse returned to the restaurant, Michael's most recent victim had been hog-tied and dragged into the toilets to join the previous recipient of a concussion, thanks to Agent Westen, and the two new members of their team were looking very pale and shaky.

Studying the two local agents, Jesse couldn't see why Michael was letting them stay. They obviously had very little, if any, combat experience and were probably going to be more of a liability than any help.

"So, Kurt, you know what you're gonna do?" Michael was coaching the younger, weedier, least threatening looking of the desk jockeys. "You just have to walk around that corner and get _them_ to come to _us_... Tell them their friend is sick."

"Are you sure?" Kurt licked his lips and wiped at his eyes, nearly dislodging his glasses in the process.

"You have _nothing_ to worry about. We'll be right here backing you up." Michael patted him on the back and started easing him towards the front desk.

"Er, Mike..." Jesse whispered, trying not to let the object of their discussion hear them. His friend was really going too far this time. These guys might be CIA, but they were hardly up to the task of taking down heavily armed, well trained terrorists. "You can't use these -"

"They'll recognize Kurt. If one of us steps out there, they'll either shoot or call for back up," Michael shot back, silencing the younger man with another stern look.

"Get ready!" he snapped as Kurt rounded the corner and they heard one of the terrorists call out for him to stop.

"Sorry, sorry, please, don't shoot, y-your friend is sick – he's been sick – please don't shoot." Kurt's voice shook as he answered the angry shout to stand still.

Michael listened, then translated what he heard. "They're coming. Remember, _no_ guns, and whatever happens, _do not_ let them call for back up."

The three remaining terrorists pushed their prisoner in front of them, their voices light and joking, oblivious to the ambush they were walking into.

Stumbling and half falling, Kurt staggered into sight, followed by the first of his tormentors. This man was instantly set upon by Jesse, who fell on the man from behind, wrapping his strong arms around his target's neck in a choke hold.

The second man ran into Michael's kneecap, which buried itself into his stomach, causing the terrorist to fall forward straight into the arms of Sherman and the reinvigorated Kurt, who began kicking and hitting him in an uncoordinated but very effective attack.

The third man had got a couple of seconds warning and was already turning away and reaching for his radio when Michael landed on his back, driving him to the ground. Soon he was trapped with one strong arm locked about his throat and both his attacker's legs wrapped around his lower body.

Michael tightened his grip, determined to stop the man crying out. His free hand clamped onto his victims head and, in that moment, all the unfairness, the frustration and suppressed anger which had marked the last year of his life boiled over.

"Mike! He's out, you can stop... Hey, you're gonna kill the dude!" Jesse's voice broke through the red mist filling his mind and he released the unconscious form laying on top of him.

"We got 'em all, Mike. Chill out, man. You okay now?"

Michael lay on his back, taking deep ragged breaths as he took back control. It had been years since he had lost control like that and it frightened him how far he was slipping back. He was better than the angry young man he had been during his early career in the CIA.

"C'mon, it ain't time to take five, Westen." Jesse held out a hand to help him up. "You want to disarm the fireworks on the front doors while I help Sherm and Kurt move these bodies?"

Standing up straight, Michael continued to take deep breaths as he worked on clearing his head. He was grateful to the younger man giving him this time alone to pull himself back together.

This had been a warning, a sharp reminder that he needed to rein in his temper and focus on the job. This had to be Card's game... to put him under so much stress that _he_ got his team-mates and himself killed.

_Well, he wasn't going to give the old man the satisfaction._

Feeling a lot calmer and back in command, Michael went to figure out how to disarm the device attached to the front doors.


	17. Stairs & Bombs & Missing Boyfriends

**AIDEN.**

**A/N: _Thank you all for your reviews of this story, I really do appreciate every one. I am sorry I have not got back to thank you all personally. For those of you who are concerned that I spent a whole chapter getting Michael and Jesse into the hotel, you can rest assured I don't intend for there to be a chapter per floor. I am not quite that cruel._  
**

_**Thanks go out to Amanda Hawthorn and Jedi Skysinger who have read through this chapter for me, I find the support and feedback you two ladies give me invaluable and our daily chats along with DaisyDay so uplifting. Also thank you Jedi Skysinger for finding the time to fit in a BETA during your very busy day.**_

_**So onto another action packed chapter...**_

_**Chapter Seventeen. **_

Stairs & Bombs & Missing Boyfriends.

Sitting in an overstuffed comfy armchair, Tom Card leaned back and stared up at the ceiling of his hotel suite. With his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, his fingertips of both hands touched, as if forming a steeple, and he allowed a small smile of satisfaction to show on his face as he contemplated how, after a little bump in the road, all his schemes were coming together.

Through the open doors leading out onto the balcony, fresh sea air blew softly into the room, causing the lampshade above his head to sway gently in the breeze. Yes, the strands of his spider web were drawing taut as his enemies tangled themselves in his carefully laid trap.

_**()()()()**_

_Mumbai._

Entering the stairwell, Michael stared upwards and pursed his lips in disgust. The highly polish wooden staircase with a clear glass balustrade was going to make the ascent a tactical nightmare. The sound of their footsteps would echo all the way up the tall narrow space, giving their position away to anybody guarding the stairs and the clear glass meant they would have no cover, not _if_ but _when_ they were discovered.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he began to pace back and forth in a tight circle as he tried to come up with a safer way of getting to the upper floors.

_What the hell had he been thinking?_ How could two men take on twenty terrorists spread over a hotel with thirty floors and hope to find one woman amongst all the hostages being held?

He glanced out to the lobby where Jesse was stood talking to the two CIA fraud investigators who had helped them free a group of twenty hostages before moving his gaze to the alcove leading to the toilets where the five captured terrorists were tied up. Part of him, the dark part, which recently was coming to the fore more and more often, wanted to go into that room and drag as much information out of the group as he could by whatever means necessary and he had plenty of unpleasant means at his disposal, thanks to the trio of sadistic mentors who had educated him in such things.

The more-centered part of his brain reminded him that the men they had captured were all true believers; nothing short of prolonged torture or a skilled interrogator with a couple of months free time would make those men tell him anything useful.

Dropping his gaze to stare at the shiny wooden floor under his feet, Michael went back to pacing. He was still so wrapped up in his thoughts, he barely acknowledged Jesse's presence when the younger man joined him in the enclosed space a few minutes later.

"Man, they're gonna hear us coming the second we start climbing," Jesse commented as he stared upwards. "One grenade tossed down that -"

"I know, Jesse," Michael grumbled without looking up. "No need to rub it in."

He already knew the younger man was right. It was what he would do if he had to defend the staircase from anybody trying to climb up. One hand grenade thrown down to ground level and any assault team would be dead and gone.

"I'm just saying."

"Would you prefer to use the elevator shaft?" Michael demanded. _Yeah, get stuck in an even smaller space, clinging to a wire with nowhere to go, when the bad guys find us._

"N-oo, thank you, I was taught to always have my feet on the ground when facing a bunch of crazed jihadists armed with automatic weapons," Jesse replied, taking a step back.

It was then that Michael noticed a couple of people were missing. "Where are-?"

"I told them to leave," Jesse answered flatly, waiting for a lecture on how they needed all the help they could get.

But he got a surprise.

"Good, they would have been in the way."

In the narrow stairwell, Michael only wanted people he could trust to have his back and that meant Jesse. He might not be as seasoned a field operative, but Jesse Porter had proved himself an expert in combat, time and time again over the last three years.

"And what's the great Michael Westen plan to get us up the stairs without getting killed?"

That was a good question and one he hadn't managed to find an answer to. "There is no plan. We're just going to have to be very quiet and hope they want to keep this staircase intact."

"So, we're falling back on loads of improvising and getting lucky? That works," Jesse shrugged. "Got us by that bunch of merc's in the Bahamas, right?" He handed Michael one of the terrorist's bullet proof vests and blue track suit jacket. "And if we look like them, at least from a distance, hopefully they won't shoot first."

Offering the younger man a tense smile, Michael quickly stripped off his equipment and put on the vest with the loose fitting jacket over the top before loading up with his guns and ammunition. He flashed his friend a grin and showed him the radio.

"We'll get some warning when our cover has been blown, too."

"Okay then, let's do this before we both come back to our senses."

Drawing their handguns, they cautiously took to the stairs. Stepping lightly, they hugged the wall and slowly began to climb. Each light tap of their boots on the polished hardwood, every time their clothing made a scuffing sound against the wall, they expected to be discovered.

Upon reaching the first floor, Michael came to a stop as he spotted the reason why nobody was bothering to guard the stairs.

Strung across the bottom of the door was a thin, almost invisible wire running from the base board on the wall to a detonator stuck in to a small block of C4 tucked under the handle on the door. Anybody who had avoided being taken as a hostage would be killed if they attempted to leave their floor.

"Sonuvabitch," Jesse hissed as he saw the trap.

"Pearce's room is on the twenty second floor and we don't have a lot of time left to find her. As soon as that Indian Colonel hears there are Americans in here mounting a rescue, he'll be on the phone to his superiors trying to find out what's going on and when he does, he'll be ordering a full scale assault... Then all hell is going to break loose."

As Michael spoke, he carefully disarmed the bomb by pulling out the detonator and removing the wire. "At least we now know why they're not bothering to actively guard this part of the hotel."

With the device made harmless, they continued climbing, still stepping lightly and trying to remain as silent as possible. At each floor, they stopped just long enough to remove the booby traps from the doors before continuing upwards.

"You think these guys will kill all the hostages?" Jesse asked as they reached the fifth floor.

Michael nodded. "Yeah I do... They've already executed ten in cold blood, so they've got nothing to lose. Besides, they took out at least a couple of soldiers when the army came in last time. When they come in next time, it will be even harder, which is why we need to find Pearce and get out of here."

After passing the sixth, seventh and eighth floors without incident, Michael came to a stop on the ninth when they discovered a door blown off its hinges and bloodstains on the walls and floor. Stepping over the gore, Michael peered into the hall and let out a deep sigh when he saw the body of a man missing an arm. Moving closer, he checked out the body even though he could tell the man had probably bled out not long after the army's attempted assault earlier in the day.

"There's nothing we can do. He's been dead at least twelve hours."

"What if –?"

"Anybody else alive is in hiding, Jesse, and it's better for us if they stay hidden," Michael answered softly. "We need to keep moving."

As he neared the top step leading to the twelfth floor, Michael sank down low and held up his arm, bent at the elbow and his hand in a fist. Just around the corner came the faint sound of voices. With Jesse at his side, Michael tried to make out what was being said. When he had heard enough, he slowly backed down the steps until they were half way between floors.

"Sounds like they're holding more hostages on this floor," Michael spoke in a low tone. "We're going to have to take out the guards as quietly as possible."

Jesse's eyes went large at his friend's casual announcement. "_Now_ you want to take on armed guards? An hour ago _you_ wanted to leave the hostages to fend for themselves."

Michael gestured with a nod of his head towards the top of the stairs. "Yeah, and _you_ talked me into rescuing them," Michael replied. "Hey, you think we can sneak past? Be my guest."

It wasn't that he wanted to smash down the door and take on a floor full of hostiles, but he couldn't see another way around the problem. If they were seen, they would end up exposed with nowhere to hide.

Michael bit down on his bottom lip and tried to come up with some way of keeping themselves safe. Finally, he nodded and stood up straight.

"_If_ we can slip by, we'll put down tripwires on the stairs behind us... _But_ if we're seen, we go in hard. You okay with this?"

"Sure, why not? But when this is over, you're going to owe me-"

"_I'm_ going to owe _you_?" Michael returned with a ghost of smile, but it was enough.

Satisfied they had some sort of plan for dealing with the guards, they slowly climbed back up the stairs until they reached the small landing. To get past unseen, they were going to have to round the corner and climb up to the next turn in the staircase.

And until they made that turn, because of the glass balustrade, they would be in plain sight.

After they waited for five long minutes and didn't hear a sound, Michael inched forward and quickly peeked around the corner; it looked clear. Taking a deep breath, he sprinted up the staircase, running as silently as he could. When he was sure he was out of the line of sight from anybody looking out of the door, he exchanged his handgun for his rifle and prepared to cover Jesse as the younger man made his way up the stairs.

"_Wow!_" Jesse mouthed as he joined Michael.

"Keep watch," Michael whispered as he carefully placed his rifle down and began to rig a tripwire on the second from top stair with a wire running across the step just above ankle height to a grenade balanced precariously on the first step around the next turn in the staircase.

_**()()**_

It was as they reached the fourteenth floor that they heard a soft crackle from the radio they had taken off the terrorists on the ground floor. Pausing, Michael listened to the chatter, his mouth becoming fixed in a straight line and his knuckles whitening as his grip on the radio tightened.

"The guys on the ground floor failed to check in," he announced to Jesse just as they heard the door two floors below them open and the sound of footsteps moving down the stairs. "They're sending a team down to check on them."

Jesse ran his tongue over his suddenly dry lips. _This was exactly where they didn't want to be, surrounded by terrorists and no sign of Dani Pearce_. "How long do you think we've got?"

"Five minutes... Maybe less if they notice -" Michael's words were cut off by an excited shout echoing up the stairs. He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. _This was it._ "We need to get moving."

They had only just begun to move when an explosion rocked the staircase and both men instantly dropped flat. As the sound echoed throughout the stairwell, it left Michael and Jesse momentarily confused. The explosion hadn't come from behind them, but from above.

The radio hanging from Michael's belt suddenly crackled to life and as soon as the spy managed to translate the rapid and agitated speech, he began to move. "Whoever is in charge has ordered a full search of the stairs!"

The door on the floor below them banged open again followed by shouts and then, mere seconds later, another explosion went off as the terrorists on the way up the stairs triggered the tripwire Michael had set.

"We can't stay here, let's move." Michael grabbed hold of Jesse's jacket and dragged him up the stairs until the younger man began to run on his own.

Sprinting up the staircase, all efforts to remain quiet abandoned, they rounded the stairs on the fifteenth floor and skidded to a stop. The door had been blown back into the hallway of that floor and they could clearly make out the voices of two people talking in hushed tones, both were American, one male and one female, which they recognized instantly.

"_Dani!" _Jesse hissed his voice barely more than a whisper as he went to rush through the shattered door.

"Slow down," the older man counselled as he blocked the younger man's headlong rush.

Michael had a good idea why Jesse was so concerned about Agent Pearce. Most people thought he was dense about personal relationships and, if they were talking about his own personal relationships, he would privately agree that most of the time he had trouble separating friends from assets. But where other people were concerned, he had a razor-like ability to spot a relationship that he could, if he wanted to, manipulate to his own advantage.

He had noticed the chemistry between the couple from the first time Jesse and Pearce had worked together and then had used that spark when they worked together to bring down Ahmed Damore and he had needed to keep Pearce focused.

Then of course there had been the subtle aura that had surrounded Jesse after he had spent a couple of nights away with Pearce getting the information they needed to find the gun that killed Nate.

"Wait," Michael ordered as he tugged on his friend's sleeve, keeping hold until Jesse sighed and took a step back.

Satisfied Jesse wasn't going to let his feelings get away from him, Michael eased his way over all the debris from the explosive damaged doorway and stepped into the dimly lit hall. With no signs of blood or body parts, which had been visible at the site of the last booby trap they had seen triggered, he was on full alert.

"Pearce, it's us. Michael Westen and I have Jesse Porter with me... Stand down, we're here to help," Michael called out.

The female agent they had come to rescue was kneeling next to an unknown man, who had his back propped up against the wall. Both of them were pointing guns at Michael and Jesse.

"Westen? Is that you? What are _you_ doing here?" Pearce blurted out and lowered her gun before slowly getting to her feet.

"What happened?" Michael ignored her questions as he concentrated solely on the injured man, who seemed to have suffered nothing more from than a bloody nose and a few minor burns to his left arm and chest from a blast that had shattered a door and torn the frame away from the wall.

"I figured the guys running the show must have done something to keep the stairs clear. Guess I found out what it was," Carson Halliday answered as he struggled to his feet. "I tried to open the door using a cord from a blind... I guess I should have used something longer." He grinned then spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. "I'm Carson Halliday."

"Michael Westen, and Jesse Porter." Satisfied with Halliday's explanation, he had already turned his attention to the sounds coming from the stairs and through his radio, informing him that the terrorists were regrouping and calling for reinforcements from the upper floors.

Looking around the fifteenth floor hallway, Michael moved towards the elevator. "Well, when you blew the door, you managed to draw attention to yourselves," Michael scolded. "So now we need to find another way out of here before we're overrun... What about the elevator shaft?"

"It's been rigged with explosives," Halliday answered, following behind the man who had seemingly taken charge.

"Really? Damn, help me-"

"Westen, what are you doing here?" Pearce had broken away from Jesse after exchanging a few words of greeting and a quick hug. Now she wanted answers and she wasn't going to let Michael Westen bulldoze his way into taking command until she knew exactly what was happening.

"We were sent to get you out of here," Michel answered as he stopped to study the elevator doors.

"Sent to get _me_? Who sent you? _Why?_ Is this some sort of an attack on American interests?" She caught hold of Westen's arm, pulling him around to face her and to stop him ignoring her authority. "Answer my questions and where is your tactical team?"

"There is no team... And it's too complicated to explain now. But we were sent to Mumbai to collect an asset of Tom Cards and your extraction is a sort of side deal."

"Tom? Tom Card sent you?"

Michael and Jesse looked at each other in surprise; it sounded a lot like Pearce knew Michael's old training officer.

"So you know him? How well?" Michael asked a sliver of suspicion creeping in to his tone.

"Well enough to know he wouldn't send two men to mount an unsanctioned assault on a hotel under siege." Her dark eyes flashed defensively as she sensed Michael's aggression.

"So, he's a friend?" Michael growled, his speech laced with suspicion. _Was she another one of Card's proteges?_

"Hey, hey, Mike…" Jesse was getting used to handling his friend's rapidly changing moods. Inserting himself between the Michael and Dani, he held out his hands palms facing outwards. "There's no time for this, not now... Why don't you let our friend here show you the elevators and I'll stand guard with Dani."

For a few seconds, there was only silence as Michael continued to stare at his one-time Agency contact. Then he relaxed and dropped his stare and offered a half smile in a sort of apology.

"Okay, Jesse," he agreed softly, then he turned to Pearce. "We need to talk – later."

Dani Pearce nodded, confused about what was going on, but willing to wait for an answer until they were out of their present predicament.

"Good, c'mon, we'll set up near the hole in the wall your boy Halliday made." Jesse gently touched the female agent's arm to get her to follow him the short distance to the empty doorway.

_**()()**_

"So, how was life treating you before yesterday?" Jesse asked as he peered out onto the staircase.

"Good." Pearce smiled. "This place under normal circumstances isn't that bad. Now, what really brought you here? Because -"

She broke off as Jesse snorted. "You haven't heard?" He didn't bother to hide his disbelief.

"I'm in charge of a small task force on the other side of the world.. I have no idea what's been happening back home," she replied, showing a hint of irritation.

He hated the sudden suspicion that leapt to the front of his brain, even on the other side of the world news of a whole CIA tactical team being blown up by a rogue agent should have filtered through.

"We found the shooter that got Nate killed," Jesse told her. "And we followed him to Panama, where he almost got _us_ killed. And when we caught finally caught up with the trigger man, he told us Tom Card had ordered the hit on Anson and that Nate was just collateral damage."

"And you believed him? A hired killer tells you a highly decorated Operations Chief sent him to kill Anson Fullerton and you just take his word on it?" She shook her head. "No, Jesse. You're wrong, I know Tom Card; he's an honorable man."

"No, trust me, Dani, you _really_ don't know him." Jesse refuted her claims and risked turning away from keeping guard. "Card had Michael fooled too, but after that crazy sonuvabitch tried to blow us all to hell with a missile from freaking F18, _we all_ came around to believing Card's hired gun. We barely got out of Panama in one piece and we left a lot of body parts behind us getting back to Miami."

A shiver ran up the young man's spine as an image of Aiden Malloy's last minutes on earth flashed before his eyes and the anguished screams of old man's granddaughter echoed through his mind.

"But, Westen just said you were here on Tom's behalf," Dani frowned.

"When we got back to Miami, Mike wanted to kill Card. It really screwed him up bad that somebody he had known for years and trusted did this to him. But I talked him into going to mano a mano with Card wearing a wire... I heard the bastard _admit_ to ordering Anson's death and a helluvalot more. Card is a traitor! He's no different than Anson, Vaughn and all the other pieces of scum who've wrecked our lives." For some reason Jesse wasn't quite sure about, it was important that the woman standing before him believed what he was saying.

"It's okay, Jesse. I believe you." Dani touched his arm and it was like an electric shock ran across his skin. "But, we need to concentrate…. I think I hear voices."

Instantly, he pulled himself back to the task in hand and very carefully edged back into the stairwell, looking upward to where they could hear the sounds of men gathering for an assault.

"Okay, we've got incoming. Go check on how Mike and your guy are doing cuz we need to bolt!"

_**()()()()**_

_Miami._

Elsa Dearbon was pacing back and forth, her shoes clacking on the hardwood floor of the long hallway of her Palm Island million dollar fixer upper. Every now and again, she stopped by the wide oak panelled and glass front door and stared out along the driveway before looking worriedly at the face of her wristwatch and then returning to pacing.

Sam and her security consultant, David Geary, had been gone for far longer than she had expected. The sun had gone down hours earlier and now, apart from the floodlights aimed at the driveway, everything else was shrouded in darkness. What was more worrying was that she had also called both men on their cell phones and neither one had answered or called back in response to the messages she had left on their voice mails.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Elsa turned to the door that led back into the living room where Fiona Glenanne lay resting. It seemed wrong to disturb the younger woman because she was worried about her boyfriend being out after dark. Yet Sam always called, especially if he was running late, even if it was just to say a few words and David was a trusted employee who had worked for her for years. The man was reliable and very capable and, most importantly, he was incredibly loyal. She could think of no good reason for him not answering his phone.

Unable to wait any longer, Elsa stepped into the living room and switched on a couple of the wall lights to dimly illuminate the room.

"Fiona." She leaned over the sleeping figure, speaking in a voice barely above a whisper. "Fi –Urgh!" The last sound came out as a strong slender hand wrapped around her throat in an iron grip. "Please..."

The hand came away instantly.

"Elsa?" Fiona looked around trying to get her bearings, confused at being suddenly woken up. "W-what time is it?" _When she had lain down it had still been light_.

Rubbing at her throat, the older woman sat down on the edge of the couch, leaving Fiona enough room to sit up properly. "It's ten o'clock. I'm sorry for waking you, but I'm worried Sammy and David. They haven't returned and they're not answering their phones."

Fiona rubbed at her eyes and tried to clear the fog that was infesting her brain. Her dream had been – – the memory brought a soft smile to her lips.

"Fiona, we have to find Sam."

"Sorry," Fiona shook her head and forced herself to concentrate. "Call them again."

She got to her feet swaying a little bit as a wave of nausea sent her hand pressing tightly over her mouth.

Watching the Irish woman rush towards the nearest bathroom, Elsa picked up her cell phone and pressed Sam's number on the speed dial, biting down on her lip to stop it trembling when the call went to voice mail. With a shaking hand, she then called David Geary's number only to have the same thing happen again.

"Oh, Sammy," she sighed, brushing a hand over her eyes as they filled with moisture. "What have you got yourself into this time?" Elsa was usually a tough woman, but after what had nearly happened to Sam in the Everglades and then more recently with her son Evan had shaken her confidence.

Taking a couple of deep shaky breaths, Elsa pulled herself back from the brink of a breakdown and got to her feet. Running her hands over her rumpled clothing, she sniffed and then patted her hair back into place. Now was not the time to fall to pieces. Sam had been missing only a few hours and, from what he had told her about Fiona, the young woman currently throwing up in the bathroom had the skills to bring Sam Axe back to her from whatever trouble he had gotten himself into.

_**()()**_

While Elsa was putting all her faith in Fiona Glenanne's abilities to find her missing boyfriend, the woman in question was more concerned with her ability to stop the room from spinning around every time she lifted her head away from the white porcelain toilet bowl while trying to control the dreadful churning of her stomach.

Wiping her hand over her clammy forehead, Fiona struggled back to her feet and washed out her mouth in the sink. Flushing the toilet, she put the seat down and sat with her head buried in her hands.

_What was wrong with her? Her sister in laws had never mentioned feeling like this. Seamus's wife Isabelle had given birth to eight healthy children and she'd never had a sick day throughout all her pregnancies, except for the last one and that had only been in the final few weeks._

_Fiona could clearly recall Isabelle at twenty five years old, with three children all under school age and already pregnant with their fourth, waving Seamus off as he headed out to sea on the start of a three month round trip to New York on an arms buying expedition._

_Capable and uncomplaining Isabelle Glenanne would scoff at her weakness. A pregnancy never stopped her from doing what was necessary, whether it was running a large chaotic household or driving a truck loaded with armaments to a delivery point because her husband had a bullet lodged in his thigh._

_Then there was Roseanne, the sweet well brought up Londoner who, just after her eighteenth birthday, had left behind everybody and everything she knew for a new life amongst strangers. Sean's young bride had given birth to all their children in her own bed with only her mother in law to keep her company._

Getting to her feet, Fiona stood looking at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. Frowning at her pale blotchy complexion, she filled the bowl with water and then wiped away the tearstains from her cheeks. Then once her face was clean and her eyes less bloodshot, she gathered up her sleep tangled hair and twisted it in to a bun. Fixing the knotted mane in place with a few hair clips she found in her pockets, she sighed deeply. She still looked a mess, but nowhere near as bad as before.

Her stomach clenched again. Closing her eyes, she breathed through the pain while in her mind she conjured up the memory of the look of love in Michael's eyes when he had told her she was beautiful and how, once he had found Tyler Grey, he was finished with the Agency.

In her dreams, Michael was at her side and they were both bathed in a warm glow of happiness. The Agency was nothing but a faded memory and their child was healthy and loved. Even now, while her eyes remained closed, she could feel his presence, his palm cradling her cheek, a calloused thumb wiping away her tears as she told him the news, a soft gentle smile coming freely to his lips as he pulled her against his body and he whispered words of adoration in her ear.

A tremor ran through her body, breaking the spell. With a sigh, she opened her eyes and took another look at herself in the mirror; this time she looked deeper, past the superficial. She was weak from lack of sleep, a poor diet and the stress of hunting down Tyler Grey. She was grieving the death of Aiden Malloy, who had once been her father's closest friend, and her body had just handed her the biggest shock of her life.

She swallowed and then straightened up. Turning her head, she looked towards the closed bathroom door. She needed to find Sam, not only for Elsa's sake, but for her own, too. She was going to need Sam to help her find Michael.

Because Fiona knew what she wanted; she wanted her dream to become her reality. She wanted their baby and she wanted Michael at her side.

_All she had to do now was work out how to make that happen. _


	18. My Brother's Keeper

**AIDEN.**

**A/N:****_Just a few words to say thank you to those of you who continue to read and review this story. I appreciate each review and PM regarding this and my other stories. A special thanks go out to my wonderful friends Amanda Hawthorn and Jedi Skysinger who have read through parts of this chapter in it's various draft forms and of course an extra thanks to Jedi Skysinger for managing to find the time to BETA for me._**

**Chapter Eighteen.**

My Brother's Keeper.

"So, this is where you keep your emergency supplies?"

David Geary stepped inside the Homestead storage locker and stared at the impressive array of weaponry on display attached to a specialized rack fixed to one of the walls before turning his gaze to the other side of the room and the rows of shelves stacked with boxes of ammunition, C4, detonator cord, duct tape and a wide variety of canned foods.

"You get a lot of emergencies which call for plastic explosives, Mr Axe?" Elsa Dearbon's security consultant queried dryly.

Sam was already busy checking the racks, the shelves and pulling out the drawers under a long metal work bench which ran the length of the back wall. He was trying to work out what was missing so he could figure out what Michael and Jesse had planned for Tom Card.

"You have _no_ idea," Sam muttered as he rummaged through one last drawer and then he stopped what he was doing and looked up. It had suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea how much Elsa had told her security consultant about her boyfriend's lifestyle.

"Er – we -" _This could be awkward._ He wondered how bad this was looking to the younger man.

"None of my business, Mr Axe," Geary's blunt reply cut off the older man's speech.

David Geary's steady gaze and calm, professional attitude convinced Sam that Elsa's bodyguard was completely loyal and wasn't spooked by the sight of a highly illegal weapons stash. In fact, he couldn't help a small smile when he noticed the way Geary was eyeing one of Fiona's most recent purchases.

"Help yourself," Sam gestured with a nod towards the rack. "It's an H and K UCP and there's a box of frangible rounds on the opposite shelf."

Geary moved closer, but reluctantly came to a stop. "It's a fine weapon, Mr Axe, but -"

"I understand, David; it's an expensive gift. I tell you what, I won't take offense _if_ you quit calling me Mr Axe and call me Sam instead."

Continuing his mental inventory of all the equipment that was missing, Sam felt a tiny bit of relief that maybe things weren't as bad as he first thought. Both men had changed their clothes; Michael was now wearing a suit. They had also re-armed themselves and the good news was an electronic bug and the receiver was also missing. Sam hoped that that meant Jesse had managed to talk Michael out of killing Card on sight.

"Okay, Sam, so what's next? You find what you were looking for?"

"I was hoping to find a clue to what Mike's up to and where he's going. I know a note is bad trade craft and all, but would it have hurt them to leave some sorta message?" He could only guess that Michael was still determined to protect them all.

"So now what?"

"Now, while you drive us back to Miami, I'm gonna have one more try at getting ahold of our financial advisor. Mikey's gonna need some money and, come to think of it, we could do with some extra cash, too."

With the heavy duty padlock back on the storage locker door, the two men climbed back into the dark blue Cadillac and, while Geary drove slowly towards the security gates, Sam pulled out his cell phone to try yet again to get hold of Barry Burkowski. He knew whatever Michael had decided to do, when he was done, he was going to need cash to run and that Barry was the person his best friend would most likely go to for help.

As the money launderer's phone rang without being picked up, Sam stared at his phone deep in thought. This made it four times that the spiky-haired one failed to answer. _Barry__ always answered his calls, in fact he prided himself on his customer service... The only time he didn't answer his phone was when he was avoiding Michael... So, had Michael already done something to set Barry's alarm bells ringing or had something else happened?_

Sam was still staring at the phone with a frown on his face when the passenger door on the Cadillac was jerked open and the muzzle of a Glock 22 was thrust firmly into his temple.

"Get out of the car, Mr Axe," growled the man dressed in a smart black suit with the gun.

_**()()**_

**Mumbai**

Michael watched Jesse walk away with Dani Pearce. He still had a lot of questions for his old CIA point of contact and it felt wrong letting her walk off without getting the truth about her relationship with Tom Card first. But he also knew that the middle of an armed siege was the wrong time to try to settle their differences. There would be time to get his answers once they were out of the hotel.

Pursing his lips, the ex-spy forced himself to relax and get back on task. Reluctantly, he turned away from the vision of Porter and Pearce deep in conversation as they stood guard. _Patience_, he reminded himself, and then his eyes lighted on the mysterious stranger who had shown enough sense, or maybe skill, not to trust an unguarded door.

"So, the elevator shaft?" Michael flashed his teeth in a shark-like smile.

"Yeah," Carson Halliday led the way over to the elevators and then with Michael's help pulled the doors open. "I took a peek down there and there are sticks of dynamite wired all the way up and down the shaft... Do you think we can pull the wires out or something?"

"Or something," Michael muttered as he cautiously leaned out to look up and down the dark space, studying the mass of wires twisted around and running out from the main elevator cables to where sticks of dynamite had been pushed into gaps in the infrastructure. "If the power comes on and the cars start moving, the whole thing will blow. Maybe, if we remove the individual detonators..." He paused again, wishing with all his heart Fiona was at his side. She would know exactly what to do. Blinking away the thought, he reminded himself he was the one who had made the choice to leave her behind. With all he had planned for the future, she was better off as far away from him as she could get.

"So, we climb down and start pulling detonators... What about the main trigger? There has to be – one, right?" Halliday suddenly found himself staring into ice cold blue eyes, the toothy smile gone.

"Sounds like you've had some experience with this sort of thing." Michael edged further away from the long drop down the elevator shaft.

"Yeah, I had some bomb disposal training, it was years ago." The younger man was becoming nervous under the steady gaze of the older man.

Michael slowly moved off further to one side and turned his body to make a smaller target as he confronted the stranger who was just too good to be true.

"That's great," he spoke softly the smile back on his lips, but not quite reaching his eyes. In a fluid motion, he drew his gun and pointed straight at Halliday. "Who are you?"

"Look, man, I'm one of Agent Pearce's team..." Halliday backed up as he answered, keeping both his hands open and in plain sight as he was also looking towards where Pearce stood talking to Porter.

"_You're_ one of Pearce's team?" Michael's tone made it plain he didn't believe what he was hearing. "Agent Pearce's _team_ is made up of desk jockeys. I met a couple of them downstairs. You're trying to tell me you're here to check out the labels on pharmaceutical products on the way to the US? The men I met barely knew which end of a gun to hold." Michael felt himself go cold and focused. If he didn't get an answer he liked soon, he was going to shoot this stranger and to hell with it.

Halliday could see death staring back at him and the younger man swallowed thickly. He knew all about Michael Westen, though he had never expected to run into the man in India.

"My name is Carson Halliday. I'm not your enemy... I -" He stopped talking as Michael thumbed back the hammer. Sucking in breath, he fixed the older man with a stare. "Okay," he held up his hands in surrender. " Stand down, Westen. I'm _Agent_ Carson Halliday. I'm with the Central Security Service."

Michael froze; he was working solely on instinct and training now. He trusted nobody, or rather he trusted Jesse to a point, Pearce less so, especially after the admission that she knew Card, and now he had to process this new guy who was apparently attached to an agency he'd had only bad memories of.

"What -?"

"We're looking into the arrest and subsequent shooting of Anson Fullerton." Halliday was a smart enough agent to know that only by satisfying Michael Westen's doubts was he going to be allowed to walk away. "And your brother's involvement in what happened. Somebody in the CIA has been blocking my boss's attempts to talk to Agent Pearce, Brady Pressman and yourself. I was sent over here to get close to Agent Pearce and find out what was going on."

"Who's your boss? Who sent you?" Michael asked the question, even though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

"Jason Bly... You two have a history, don't you?"

"You could say that." Much to Halliday's relief, Michael returned his gun to his waistband and turned back to staring at the large amounts of explosives blocking their way out. "I'm going to get you out of here, Agent Halliday, and then _you_ are going to go back to your boss and tell him to leave me and my friends alone. I already know who killed my brother and there is nothing you or Agent Bly can do to help. Am I making myself clear?"

Halliday nodded, deciding it was best to just agree at this stage. He opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly he saw both Pearce and Porter fall back a step, followed almost instantly by the harsh chatter of automatic gunfire.

"You think you can start pulling out the detonators?" Michael snapped, his eyes flickering to the elevator shaft.

"Yeah, sure – but..."

"We have to go _now_. All this noise is gonna bring in the army assault teams. Climb down and start pulling those detonators. I'm going to get Jesse and Pearce..." Michael took two steps and then turned again. "Halliday, we're gonna come out on the twelfth floor. There are more hostages there. We'll try to get them out with us."

Leaving the CSS agent to start the descent, Michael drew his own gun and joined the other two trying to hold back the men firing through the doorway.

Catching hold of Dani's arm, he pulled her back. "Get going, Pearce. We're climbing down the shaft; Halliday is clearing the path, go help him."

"There are hostages on some of the upper floors. We should -"

"We haven't got time to save everybody, Dani. There's some people being held on the twelfth who I'm hoping we can rescue. But the army is going to be coming in soon and I have no intention of getting caught up in the middle of that fire fight."

They both ducked as the gunfire suddenly became more intense. Then, they watched in horror as a grenade came hurtling towards them. Michael was already throwing Pearce to the floor when a large foot connected with the grenade and sent it whizzing back to where it came from.

The deafening boom followed by screams of the dying was almost drowned out by the whoop of delight coming from the shaven headed young man standing over the two spies.

"Stingaree soccer team captain and highest scorer two years running, man!" Jesse grinned wildly.

With the break in firing, Michael scrabbled to his feet and held out a hand to Pearce. "We should go before they re-group."

"Did you see that?" Jesse demanded, his eyes still shining.

"Yes, dear." Dani rolled her eyes. "You almost got your foot blown off, but good job."

As they ran towards the shaft, Michael took out one of the grenades he had gathered on their way up the staircase and threw it far out of the door, setting off another explosion to slow down their pursuers.

_**()()**_

**Miami**

Jason Bly leaned back in his chair while staring in awe at the mountain of intelligence folders which had been delivered by hand to his office by one of Congressman Cowley's personal assistants. Frowning at the overflowing stacks of information covering his desktop, he was reminded of the old saying, "_be careful what you wish for". _ Bly understood the need for all the paperwork, although most of what Cowley had sent him could have been found with access to the right security codes on the CIA database. But any search through Tom Card's records or those of Westen via formal channels would have undoubtedly alerted the Operations Chief that there was an internal investigation taking place.

Idly flipping through the pages of one of the thinner files bearing the crest of the Central Intelligence Agency and stamped in large block letters TOP SECRET, the CSS agent sighed. _Well, he could hardly complain. Up until his early morning visit to Congressman Cowley's Key Biscayne mansion, he had been frustrated by the lack of access to any credible intelligence on Michael Westen._ _ Now, he had too much. _Closing the file, he threw it on top of one of the stacks before him and closed his eyes.

_There were so many rumors, lies and legends surrounding the burned spy, it was going to take him weeks to work his way through all the data he had been handed. But the Congressman had made it very clear at their earlier meeting that he wanted an answer as soon as possible._

_What he needed was somebody who could clear away the lies and direct him towards the truth of Michael Westen's life, career and especially his relationship with Tom Card. He could only come up with three people, barring the main protagonists who held the key to the whole truth and he seriously doubted any of them would willingly talk to him. One was in the wind, or more likely already in Tom Card's hands and on __his way to a secret prison on the other side of the world. The second had refused his help the last time he had seen her. In fact, the crazy woman had preferred to face the death penalty rather than admit to the real reason why she was facing three charges of capital murder._ _And the third..._ Bly allowed himself a small smile. _The third was sitting in an interrogation room two floors down from where he sat now. He just needed to come up with a way to reach out to him._

A light knock on his office door drew Bly's thoughts away from the seemingly ridiculous scenario of having too much information to the agent who stood with his head poking around the edge of the door.

"Sir, we have a location on the female targets."

Bly beamed, "Where?" He was already out of his chair.

"Palm Island, sir."

"Great, get a surveillance team in place. Tell them to be discreet. Let's not spook them, especially not Ms. Glenanne." He was already imagining how badly that would go as he got to his feet and headed for the interrogation rooms. Sam Axe had had three hours to sit and stew. Now he had some leverage, it was time to see if he could make Michael Westen's best friend see sense.

Leaving his office, Bly glanced back at the intelligence files still sitting on his desk before closing and locking the door. Cowley might have gone over the top with the paperwork, but the state of the art tracking technology he had authorized for use on this internal investigation had already proven its worth.

Hooking up Barry Burkowski's cellphone to the newly acquired software had allowed the CSS agents to find Sam Axe's location and to track him to a spot where they could quietly take him and a member of the Dearbon hotel chains staff into custody and Axe's cellphone had led to the discovery of Elsa Dearbon and Fiona Glenanne.

"_Now, if only Jesse Porter, or even better Michael Westen, would just call the money launderer or the best friend, it would make my week,"_ Agent Bly thought as he neared the room holding Sam Axe.

_**()**_

"Good Evening, Mr. Axe. Sorry to have kept you waiting so long, but it's been a busy day." Bly walked into the room speaking warmly as he pulled up a chair and got comfortable. "I'm not sure if you remember me... My name is -"

"Cut the crap, Bly. I know who you are," came Sam's waspish reply.

It was obvious to the CSS agent that being confined in a small windowless room with only the flickering and buzzing of a broken flourscent light for company had worked on the ex-SEAL's nerves, which made Bly's smile widen even more.

"Oh good, that makes things so much easier. Let's get started then," he spoke with false cheerfulness. "Now, Mr. Axe, let me be plain here. There is _a lot_ of compelling evidence that your friend, Michael Westen, has been trafficking drugs from Panama into Miami for quite some time." He threw the heavy dossier supplied by Tom Card down in front of Sam and then flipped open the first page. "There are photographs here and several communication logs which document yours and Westen's long term relationship with a known heroin importer who goes by the name of Carmelo Dante."

Sam stared down at a series of grainy photographs of himself standing next to Michael and Dante. It all looked very chummy, as in several of the shots Michael's hand was resting on the heroin dealer's shoulder and they were all smiling.

He recognized them as pictures taken at the wharf where Michael had tricked Dante into using his resources to track down a missing Predator drone for the CIA. But Sam's main memory of that mission was being hung out to dry by the CIA with an angry psychopath who was looking to seriously hurt somebody.

Sam's silence and bored expression wasn't the response Bly had hoped for, but he reminded himself the ex-SEAL was trained to cope with interrogation. So he reached across the table and turned the pages to what he hoped was something that would get Sam Axe's attention.

"You should know the DEA has begun to build a case against Ms. Elsa Dearbon as well. Did you know Westen is apparently cleaning his drug money through your girlfriend's hotels?" He pointed at the relevant page, drawing Sam's unwilling gaze to rows of numbers, some of which were highlighted. "I'd say that was taking advantage of a friendship, wouldn't you? Unless, of course, you already knew about this..."

Sam was unable to tear his eyes away from the columns of figures. His complexion paled and then finally he looked up.

"You really think you can make any of this stick?" he growled.

"I'm just trying to explain your situation to you, Mr. Axe... Yours, and Ms. Dearbons," Bly replied, his voice dripping with sympathy.

Sam did his best to contain his anger, but he was fighting against pain and exhaustion and the CSS agent's mocking grin was only making things worse. He knew Bly was just playing with him at the moment, laying out exactly how much trouble he was in before he would offer to help him out _for a price._

"Now, moving on from your special lady, who by the way I wouldn't be too worried about." Bly's whole attitude was that of him being just a guy doing his job. But it wasn't fooling Sam one bit.

The CSS agent continued to drip poison with his every word. "I mean, she has access to some pretty high class legal advisors, who will no doubt be advising her to permanently cease all contact with you. But hey, let's skip over those messy relationship issues and get right to the point: twelve capital murder charges."

_Now the gloves are coming off, _Sam thought as he shook his head in denial.

"Why are you shaking your head, Mr. Axe? I have pictures if you'd like to review the evidence of what's left of the CIA team that attempted to arrest you all in Panama."

Sam felt his blood run cold as Bly turned over the pages until he came to satellite shots of the scene at the airfield after they had flown away from the scene.

"That is a -"

"Please, Mr. Axe... I'm not finished explaining how much shit you're about to be buried in," Bly tutted at the interruption to his little show and tell. "Now, the forensic examination of this scene has turned up some _very_ interesting intelligence. Take the chemical analysis of the bomb, for instance. Did you know the explosive element used to kill the tactical team is an exact match to a batch last used in 1978 during a London bombing campaign by the IRA?"

Sam's heart skipped a beat. He had a good idea where the CSS agent was going with his explanation; if he could tie them all to a terrorist organization... He raised his eyes to look across the table to find Bly gazing blandly back at him.

"Now, as I understand it, over the years you've spent a lot time with Ms. Glenanne, who I must say _wowed_ me with her knowledge of blast patterns." Bly paused again while he helpfully turned the page to display more gory images of the scene. "Anyway, what was I saying?... Oh yes, Ms. Glenanne's specialist skill set. I'm sure she has mentioned it to you that bomb-makers tend to have a signature mixture which they rarely stray from."

Sam stared down at the chemical analysis report Bly placed on top of the last lot of photographs.

"The most interesting part of this, Mr. Axe, is that our own experts tell me this particular mix has only ever been tied to two men. Can you guess who those two men were, Sam? May I call you Sam?"

Sam kept his head down, because he was fairly certain that if he looked up he would struggle with the urge to take the grinning CSS agent's head off. First Anson, then Card and now they had Bly snapping at their heels, too. But Jason Bly wasn't finished with him yet and the agent's voice droned on.

"Isn't a strange coincidence that thirty five years later and a continent away, Patrick Glenanne's only daughter just happened to be trying to get out of Panama with the help of Aiden Malloy's only son Kenneth, who happened to lease an aircraft hangar right next to where the explosion took place? So you see, this dossier seals not only your fate, but that of your lady friend and Ms. Glenanne, too. And, on the face of it, I'd say it's pretty damning evidence. It fits together perfectly."

The only sound for several minutes was Sam's deep breathing, as he could do nothing else but stare at everything the CSS agent had laid out before him. Slowly he eased himself back in the chair and arranged his features into a look of unconcern. As bad as it looked, most of it was lies or supposition. Michael was out there somewhere digging up evidence of Card's guilt. Now was not the time to give up hope of getting out from under all the lies.

"It's all bullshit," Sam started, sounding full of false bravado. "And if you believe Mike or any of us would -" His words dried up as Bly pulled a familiar makeshift recording device out of his pocket.

"To be honest, Sam, I agree with you." Bly lost the smarmy expression and the irritating smile. "This – _report_ in my opinion is all a little _too_ perfect. In my job, I get to read a lot of these mission logs and this - - it _looks_ to me like something that was put together in a rush. Vague details, incomplete data that somebody has carefully manipulated to lead neatly to one conclusion... These things normally take days to read, sort into order and then verify." He shook his head. "But nevermind all that, because a few hours ago, this fell into my lap." He pressed the play button and sat back.

_"Hello there."_

_"Show me your hands, Tom."_

Sam looked up, his blood almost freezing when he heard Michael's greeting to Tom Card. As the recording continued to play, Sam's fingers clenched into fists. He had no idea how Michael had managed to control himself after hearing how badly he had been used by the very people he had put all his trust in.

_"You did all this? Got me burned?"_

_"No, not me. Well, not only me. I was brought into the loop when Rayna Kopec was assassinated... Please tell me you knew that was an assassination?"_

Sam couldn't stop the gasp that was ripped from his throat, his chest tightening at the mention of Rayna's name. It had been years since he had heard it. Closing his eyes, he sank back in the chair as Card's gloating tones filled the small room.

_"Your old boss nearly nailed them, but she made the fatal mistake of getting noticed. But she must have known they were closing in on her, because before she died, she passed everything she had gathered upstairs... Hey, you want to blame anybody for dragging you into all this? Blame her, kiddo. It was your name she passed up the line. Michael Westen is in the unique position to gain employment within the organization as I have reason to believe he is already being targeted for recruitment."_

He forced down his sorrow. All those years ago, he had been right. He'd known her death had been covered up right from the start. He'd known it, but had been unable to get anybody to believe him, not even Mikey. Taking a gulping breath, he did his best to hide the pain he was feeling from the man sitting across from him. Interrogation was all about seeking out weaknesses in the subject that could be exploited. There was no way on earth he was going to let the sonuvabitch facing him use Rayna Kopec's memory as a tool to get the answers he wanted.

When the recording ended, Bly placed the device back in his jacket pocket and looked sadly at the man sitting across the table. Drawing in a deep breath, the CSS agent let it out in a sigh. He could tell by Sam Axe's expression, though the older man was doing his best to hide it, that he was hitting close to the mark.

"You know I've worked with Michael before," Bly spoke softly. "And I admit we've had our differences in the past, but you heard the tape. Your friend is in way over his head. If he hadn't gone rogue before the burn notice, he's about to now... Unless you help me bring him in."

When Axe remained silent, Bly pursed his lips shaking his head sadly. _Why couldn't these people see he wasn't the enemy here._ He turned away and opened the door and then paused, staring back into the room, remembering everything he had read in the Sam Axe dossier.

"I was given that dossier by a friend in the FBI," Bly lied. _There was no need for Axe to see his whole hand. _"If _we_ can't make a deal, I'll have no choice but to hand you over to them. How long do you think _you'll_ survive in federal prison once Card puts the word out?... But it's not only _your_ life is it, Sam? What about your girlfriend? By the time the DEA and the IRS finish with her... She _might_ escape charges but her reputation will be ruined and she can't afford a high profile scandal in her line of business. I think we both know how quickly that kind of publicity can affect the profitability of her financial investments. It would be such a shame to see her life's work go down the drain like that. Why, I'd be surprised if she wasn't bankrupt in less than a year."

Bly saw a tiny crack appear in Sam's demeanor as the man's fingertips brushed over one of the many surveillance pictures spread out over the small table. Running the tip of his tongue over his lips, the CSS agent tried to widen the crack. "Then there's Ms. Glenanne, she almost threw her life away once to protect Michael Westen. Do you think Fiona could survive another stay in federal prison? Only this time it would be in a _British_ maximum security prison. Though the way I understand it, MI6 wants to use her to get to her brothers... I think they intend parading her around Belfast as a poster child for Anglo-Irish relations. The IRA terrorist who fell in love with an American spy and assisted the British government in destroying the Real IRA back in the nineties... It makes a great story, doesn't it? …. unless, of course, you happened to have been a member of the Real IRA. You know, it's _crazy_ what a long memory those people have. They really know how to hang onto a grudge, don't they?"

Sam shuddered involuntarily thinking about what would happen to Fiona in her present condition under those circumstances.

"Friendship and loyalty are all very well, Sam. But sometimes you have to do things to help people they might not agree with." Bly had seen the shudder and made one last attempt to reach out to the ex-SEAL. "I'm sure Michael's done things lately that you haven't agreed with. Tell me this... How do you see this ending for Michael if he goes off the reservation? What will happen when the bodies start piling up again and I think we can _both_ agree based on what you just heard in that recording that sooner or later the bodies _will_ start piling up again. How do you see that ending, Sam? How do _you_ think his mother would survive losing both her sons? I don't know about you, but I think _I'd_ like to know that I had done _everything_ I could to prevent it."

Sam stared straight ahead. He hated that everything the CSS agent said made sense. Listening to his best friend's voice filled with so much anger and desperation had made his blood run cold and it almost made him sick to hear Card blithely confess that the Agency had used Mike like that. What else had Card told him after the recording came to an end? Michael was definitely teetering on the edge – and if he went over? The ex-SEAL blinked and sighed. It went against everything he believed in, loyalty, friendship, brotherhood...

But if Michael stepped over the edge... wasn't it his job as his best friend to pull him back? Could Jesse really handle the ex-spy, keep him from going over into the darkness once again?

No, _he_ was going to have to be there to stop his friend from going down that path. Sam looked up as the door closed behind the CSS agent. _Fiona was going to kill him for what he was about to do._

"Bly! Get your ass back in here and tell me what you want me to do."

The door opened instantly and Sam bit down on his lip. The sneaky bastard must have been waiting for him to break.

"Well, I'm glad to see _someone_ has Michael Westen's best interests at heart."

"Don't push it, fella. I'm doing this for Mikey and, before I say a word, I want some guarantees in place or no deal."

Bly sat down, eager to speed things along. "So, tell me what you want." He saw no point in pushing any harder. The ex-SEAL had done all the courses on resisting interrogation and on negotiation. Things would go easier for all concerned if they both stopped playing games and just got down to business.

"You leave Elsa out of this completely. We both know Mike isn't dealing drugs or washing money through her hotel accounts. You call off the DEA, IRS and all the other alphabet agencies you've put onto her... And you leave Fiona out of all this too. She won't talk to you and she's gonna to kill me for doing this."

"Ms. Dearbon has nothing to worry about as far as I'm concerned." Bly shrugged before adding, "But I can't stop Card from going after her, so the sooner you start helping -"

Sam held up a hand, stopping Bly's words. "Okay, you do what you can to keep Elsa out of it. Now, about Fiona..."

Bly shook his head. "Ms. Glenanne may have information -"

"Uh-huh, buddy, she's out of it, all of it. She gets her papers, her immunity and her anonymity. _Period_. "

Bly blinked. _In__teresting_, he thought and then smiled easily. "I'll tell you what, for now I'll stay away from both of them – – as long as they stay on Palm Island out of trouble and where I can keep an eye on them."

"How did you-?"

"Same way we caught you, through your cell phone. When you called Barry, you thought your banker wasn't answering your calls, which would have been the smart play for him. But we have a program that allows us to trick you into thinking there's no answer while we track you down. Your little lady is very concerned for your safety. Any how, if those are your only conditions, I -"

"Ah-huh, we've not finished yet. I want you to guarantee that Mikey will be treated fairly. Everything, _and I mean everything_, no more sweeping it all under the rug to save the Agency's ass, everything that happened in Panama, and before, Anson's death, what happened to Nate... it all comes out that it was that sonuvabitch Card." It was then that Sam realized there was one name missing from everything that had been said. "Where's Jesse?"

Bly raised an eyebrow. "As far as I'm aware, Mr. Porter is in CIA, or more than likely Tom Card's hands. He was last seen being manhandled by two men into a big dark colored SUV."

Sam nodded solemnly, knowing there was nothing they could do to help his friend out without letting Card know that he was being investigated, which brought to mind his next question.

"Two things before I say yes and spill my guts to you, Bly. Do you have the clout to pull this off or are _we all_ going to end up in Gitmo together?"

Visions of appearing before Congressman Cowley with everything the man had asked for and more flitted through Jason Bly's mind for a moment before he answered. "I can promise you this, life as _my _witnesses will be far more pleasant than whatever Tom Card has in mind for all of you. What's your other concern, Sam?"

"Do you have the slightest idea where to find Mike?"


	19. Alliances

**AIDEN.**

**A/N: I am sorry for the delay in updating this story but I am back now and the muse is feeling energized. Thank you for all the reviews for this story I apologize for not sending out personal replies but I do appreciate all your comments.**

**A special thanks go out to Jedi Skysinger and Amanda Hawthorn for the umpteenth times you both read through this chapter for me. Also an extra thanks to Jedi Skysinger for your input and for the BETA.**

**I would also like to take the opportunity to shamelessly promote a new story Victims of War which I have co-authored with Jedi Skysinger under the pen name of Jedi's Pal. The first chapter will be posted on Monday.**

**Chapter Nineteen. **

_**Alliances.**_

_Unlike criminals, spies are trained to work with their captors to negotiate their own release. In most cases, it simply requires you stay calm, relaxed and be as helpful as possible. _

At the end of a gruelling four hours in an interrogation room with Jason Bly, Sam Axe lay back on a surprisingly comfortable mattress in a six by eight cell with his good arm flung carelessly over his eyes as he tried to get some rest. The nausea inducing ache from his bullet shredded bicep had been reduced to a dull throb thanks to the doctor that CSS Agent Bly had eventually called in to check him over. But not even the mind numbing medication he'd been given would allow him to switch off completely.

Once he had agreed in principal to spill his guts to Bly, they had then spent the next two hours hashing out the details of a mutually acceptable deal which the CSS agent could take to his bosses. By the end of it all, Sam hoped he had gotten all his friends something they could live with.

He knew Fiona was going to hate him for agreeing to anything Jason Bly had to offer. But she still thought they had a way out of the web they were tangled in and maybe there was a way out, but it would mean crossing a line he wasn't prepared to cross and if Michael hadn't killed Tom Card on sight it meant his best friend wasn't ready to step over into the dark either.

He had been at Michael's side from the very beginning, aiding his friend in any way he could in an effort to get the unjustified burn notice removed from around the ex-spy's neck. But every time they thought it was over, another bad guy far worse than the last would pop up out of hole. He was so sick of seeing what the stress of so much betrayal was doing to his best friend. He just couldn't do it any more. The way things were going, sooner or later they were all going to end up dead trying to fight their way clear of all the lies and conspiracies.

And it wasn't just the threat to their own lives. They were pulling more and more of their friends and family down with them. Nate died because of the danger Anson Fullerton posed to Tom Card and others like him. Barry Burkowski was being held under lock and key, along with Elsa's security guard David Geary.

The images of Brady Pressman, driving away just before his car was turned into an inferno by a Maverick missile sent to kill them all, and Aiden Malloy, blowing himself up, making a noble sacrifice to save his family, played before his closed eyes.

This last act had weighed heavy on Sam's soul. The deaths of the CIA agents who were most likely just following orders did not sit well with the ex-SEAL. He had no idea if they had been knowingly working with Card, but he suspected they had been fed some sort of bull by the Chief of Operations, painting Michael as a rogue agent.

And now, if Bly's dossier was to be believed, Elsa was about to be dragged through the dirt, too, and it just wasn't in him to ruin the life of the woman he loved.

Rubbing his hand over his eyes, Sam let out a long shuddering breath. _There came a time when you just had to say enough was enough. When the cost of continuing the fight was just too much too bear. Elsa... Fiona and her unborn child... Madeline.__... Madeline who had already lost one son; __what would the death of her one remaining child do to her? _

Sam closed his eyes and searched for a little bit of peace, trying to clear his mind and get some much needed sleep. He knew as soon as Bly came back to him with a workable deal, there would be one round of questions after another probably right up to the time Tom Card was brought before a congressional hearing.

Letting out a long drawn out sigh, he screwed his eyes shut and silently cursed the over head light which had yet to be turned out and tried yet again to get some rest.

_It had been just before midnight that there had been a light knock on the door to the interrogation room. He had watched as Bly held a whispered conversation with the newcomer and, when the CSS agent had returned to the table, he had a familiar cell phone in his hand._

"_I need you to make a call... I've received word the ladies out on Palm Island are about to make a move." _

_The weight of the phone being dropped into his hand had felt more like that of thirty pieces of silver than a thin moulded plastic encasing a few tiny electronic circuit boards and wires. Bly had picked up on his hesitation and leaned over the table. _

"_Mr Axe, I thought we'd been through all this? If you don't want to cooperate, that's fine by me, really... Instead of trying to keep all your asses out of jail, I can make a call to the F.B.I and let them know I've got one of Michael Westen's accomplices in custody and I have the location of another two. That way you can take your chances in the federal penal system, or you can make the call and keep Ms Dearbon and Ms Glenanne safe overnight." _

_He'd felt like a traitor when he'd put the phone on loud speaker as Bly requested and pressed the call button. _

"_Hey, sweetheart." He'd spoken as soon as Elsa answered the call, doing his best to sound light hearted. But even to his own ears, the good cheer sounded false._

"_Sammy! Where are you? What's happened? I've been calling-" He could hear the concern in her voice with every word and he'd had to hold himself together as he listened as her panicked questions had run into each other. In the end, he'd managed to get a word in and had asked her if Fiona was in the room._

"_No... She's upstairs, getting her shoes. We were about to come looking for you. Do you want –?"_

"_No – no, listen pumpkin, there's no problem. We've just got a little caught up, that's all... We're gonna stay in the city over night... Just listen. I need you to tell Fiona that I called and everything is fine. I'll be back in the morning, so just stay put until I get there."_

"_Sam?" she'd questioned her voice full of fear._

"_I'll be in touch in morning. Sweetheart... It's late you should both get some sleep." He'd blinked and then added without caring what Bly thought. "Love you." He'd ended the call and then turned on the smirking CSS agent. "Happy now?"_

"_You did the right thing, Sam," Bly had commented as he'd taken the phone back. "Now it's late and there is a bed in a cell waiting for you down the hall. I'll even have a doctor come in and look at your arm."_

_Bly had escorted him along several corridors until they came to a row of rooms with the door locks on the outside. _

"_It's a little cramped I know, but I'm sure you're too tired to want to exercise." Bly stood to one side. "Here's some reading material you might want to study carefully." He'd handed him a thick folder which Sam'd recognized as Tom Card's dossier on Michael and the rest of them. "There'll be a quiz on it tomorrow," had been his parting comment._

_The doctor had turned up with an armed guard, who stood by while a fresh dressing was applied to his arm and a much needed dose of strong pain medication was injected into his body... He had hoped the drug would allow him to sleep, but he was wrong._

With a sigh of frustration, Sam gave up on the idea of sleep and propped himself up before reaching for the dossier Bly had left in the cell with him. When he had started reading, all he wanted to do was to see how bad things actually were... But as he skimmed through the pages, he began to wish he had just taken Bly's word on it as he realized just how serious Card was in setting them all up to never see daylight again.

With a sound of disgust, Sam threw the dossier onto the floor and slumped back, deep in thought. Card had them screwed seven ways to Sunday. Basically unless they could discredit the evil sonuvabitch, there wasn't a chance of them proving their innocence.

And even if by some miracle they did manage to convince enough people that Card had lied, there was still the fact a twelve man team of CIA agents had been killed and the MI6 extradition request, which would see Fiona made into a target for every enemy she had made in Ireland and the UK.

As he wiped a hand over his weary eyes, he was supremely grateful when the lights finally went out.

_**()()**_

The measured click-clack, of what Fiona guessed were the high heels of Elsa Dearbon pacing about the ground floor, woke the Irish woman up from what had been a good nights sleep. Staring up at the ceiling of her bedroom, Fiona watched the tiny particles of dust dance and shimmer in the early morning rays of sunlight which streamed into the room through the large uncovered window.

"_I could get used to this,"_ she thought as she stretched out, arching her back off the bed, reveling in the warmth and the blissful feeling of peace which filled her soul.

She knew it wouldn't, or rather couldn't, last. There were too many enemies circling. As soon as she got up and dressed, she had plans to visit one of the few gunrunners she thought might still trust her enough to loan her some hardware and then she was going ignore all the advice she had received from all the well meaning people in her life and join in the search for Michael and Jesse.

And if at some point during her day the smarmy weasel face of Tom Card happened to stray into her cross-hairs, she wouldn't waste the opportunity to solve all their problems with one well placed bullet. With that happy thought in filling her mind, Fiona sat up and slid out bed.

Moving over to stand before the large window, she looked out over what would some day be a large family yard, her gaze lost in the deep blue of the clear Miami sky, the same crystal blue color as Michael's eyes; it was as if he was staring back at her. Biting down on her bottom lip, her hand drifted over her stomach and she realized for the first time in two days that the soreness had disappeared. Looking down, unsure if the lack of muscle tearing cramps was a good thing or not, she ran both hands over the flat planes of her belly and torso.

"_What do you mean, you're still looking into it?! You're the head of the Intelligence Oversight Committee. I meant what I said, Bill. I've never asked you for anything before whereas you -. I understand, I'm not a fool -. Tomorrow, if I don't hear from you by tomorrow, I may have to review who deserves the sup - See that you do... Goodbye, Bill."_

Fiona was jerked out of her reverie by Elsa's clipped angry tones floating up from the floor below. It sounded like the crafty Congressman had just got an earful from an angry hotelier. Letting out a sigh, she turned away from the window and picked up her clothes from the end of the bed.

_Maybe it was time to stop daydreaming and find out what news if any Elsa had gotten from the Head of the IOC._

Fifteen minutes later, after taking a quick shower and making herself as presentable as possible with her limited resources, Fiona made her way downstairs. Following the smell of freshly made coffee, she found Elsa standing in the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee in one hand while the other still gripped her phone.

The chief executive had obviously arrived prepared for a long stay. Her brown hair was carefully arranged in a smart up do and her face made up with discrete expertly applied make up. A dark blue power suit with a white silk blouse and four inch high blue Chanel heels completed her ensemble.

"Good morning, I hope I didn't disturb you. I called Bill Cowley to see if he had found out anything, but all he would say was matters of security have to be handled delicately... I swear the damn man is stonewalling me." Elsa let out a sigh and reached for the coffee pot standing on a work bench against the wall. "Do you want a drink?" she asked.

"Thank you. You're rather over dressed for another day lounging around a building site," Fiona commented as she accepted the steaming hot beverage the older woman handed her.

"I have a meeting scheduled with the head of sales and marketing at ten... I was hoping Sam was going to be back by now."

"Don't worry about Sam. He can look after himself." Fiona tried to offer some reassurance. "How about I come back to the hotel with you? That way while you get to have your meetings, I can spend the day trying to track down Michael. Sam will call when he has some news."

"He said we should wait for him... But it's nine o'clock now and -" Elsa left the sentence unfinished as she checked the time on her wristwatch. "I can't wait." She huffed, a frustrated scowl marring her perfectly made up features.

"Sam will understand. He probably isn't even awake yet." Fiona took a quick sip of her bitter, black unsweetened coffee and put the cup down. She had her own worries about what game Sam Axe was playing with his late night phone call. She suspected it was just a ploy to keep her on Palm Island babysitting Elsa.

"Let's go." She held out a hand for the keys to Elsa's vehicle.

Fiona drove the large four door luxury sedan out of the drive way and instantly was forced to come to a stop as a black SUV seemingly came out of nowhere and pulled up across the front of her vehicle. Inside were two men in dark colored suits, their eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.

"Hold on," Fiona snapped out the order, her hand seeking out the reverse gear while her foot stamped down on the gas pedal.

With a squeal of protest, the sedan shot backwards and then just as suddenly leapt forwards again, clipping the front of the blocking SUV as Fiona sent the vehicle over the curb and onto the road before racing off towards the gatehouse and the MacArthur Causeway. She knew it was a desperate long shot, but if she could maneuver through the traffic, they might make it off the causeway before whoever was chasing them could set up roadblocks.

"Oh my God! Fiona, who are they? Shouldn't we stop? Maybe if - Arrgghh!" Elsa's cries of panic were cut off when her seatbelt suddenly tighten slamming her firmly back in her seat as Fiona stamped down hard on the brakes sending the car into a squealing skid.

Four unmarked black sedans blocked the way off Palm Island and, as Fiona brought the car to a sliding stop, the SUV with the damaged front end came up behind them, blocking them in.

Fiona slammed her hands on the steering wheel. "Sonuvabitch!" She cursed and then wound her window down as a man with a gun cautiously approached the car and tapped on the window.

"Ma'am, if you'll go back to the house, please. Someone will be a long to speak to you shortly."

"Who-?" she demanded angrily.

"Just go back to the house please." The man was calm, professional and to Fiona he reeked of being a government drone. "It's for your own safety, ma'am."

Snorting in anger, she reversed back narrowly missing the SUV and once she had turned around, much to her disgust, they were boxed in by other vehicles and escorted back to the house.

"Who are they?" Elsa asked worriedly, as she peered out of the window at the cars and the armed men surrounding them.

Fiona shook her head. She wasn't sure. They didn't strike her as Card's men. If Tom Card knew where she was, he would have her in chains to keep Michael in line. He definitely wouldn't be driving over for a visit.

"I don't know... FBI, Homeland Security, CIA. Let's get inside while I work out how we're getting out of this."

"What if you jump out, do you -" Elsa babbled.

Fiona shook her head. "No, there's too many of the them." Then she offered up a grim smile. "Besides if I got away, Sam would kill me for leaving you behind."

"Maybe if I call Bill Crowley he might be -" Elsa reached for her phone and discovered there was no signal. "They're jamming our phones."

"And the hits just keep coming," Fiona muttered angrily. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see who crawls out of the woodwork."

Turning onto the driveway, they drove back into the garage and let themselves back inside through the kitchen door. Thankfully their guards stayed outside, preferring to watch the property from a discrete distance.

While Elsa sank down onto a chair, at a loss about what to do, Fiona paced around the room like a caged animal, her mind running amok with theories about which of the alphabet soup agencies had taken them prisoner.

"You should try to get some rest," Elsa commented softly. "You must remember your condition."

Fiona stopped in her tracks and let out a long sigh.

"It's my _condition_ that's the problem." she explained. "If these people find out - they'll turn it into leverage against Michael - I have to get out of here before they find out." She remembered the horrors of what had happened to her while in prison and the thought of going through all that while pregnant caused tears to spring into her eyes.

_So much for feeling back to normal_. She tried to brush off her emotions. Instead she reminded herself of the story of how, during what was known as the Border campaign, her mother Maeve, six months pregnant with her third child, held back four Ulster Volunteer Force paramilitaries with a pistol and a shotgun while her five year old eldest son reloaded for her and her second child clung onto her skirts.

Blinking away the tears, she forced down all her fears. She was a Glenanne and Glenanne women had been having babies and dealing with absentee husbands and enemy government agencies ever since the beginning of the twentieth century. She would not be the first one to fall to pieces and disgrace her family name.

She was drawn out of her thoughts by the sound of two cars pulling onto the drive way and that was when she saw Agent Jason Bly at the side of an unshaven and dishevelled Sam Axe. An explosion of rage rose up inside of her like an blazing inferno. She was literally seeing red by the time Bly and Sam walked through the front door. Without thinking, her hand reached out and snatched up one of the empty coffee cups and, as Elsa screamed, the furious Irishwoman hurled the cup at Sam Axe's head.

"Hey! Hey, missy, wait a damned minute -" Sam ducked as a can opener quickly followed the cup. "Goddammit, Fi, gimme a chance to talk, will ya?" He strode forward and caught hold of her throwing arm and held it above her head until she stopped fighting. "Quit it, Tinkerbelle! – Jeez, oww!" He let go off her arm as her foot connected sharply with his shin.

"Yes, Sam, _please_ explain what you're doing here with _him!"_ she spat out, then pushed past the smirking CSS agent and stalked into the living room.

With eyes filled with unadulterated fury, she sat down on the couch, her back rigidly upright and her arms crossed over her chest. She waited, her body quivering with an almost burning need to hurt somebody. _Sam had brought this man... no, not a man. He had led this snake in the grass right to her... He had led one of Michael's enemies straight to his unborn child._

Slowly the other players in the drama followed her into the room, Sam choosing to sit down close to Elsa and reached out to hold her hand, his calm expression and gentle touch reassuring the wealthy hotelier that, however bad things were looking now, it would all turn out all right in the end.

Bly stood in the center of the room with his hands clasped together in front of him, his expression neutral. But there was a spark of humor in his eyes aimed at Fiona Glenanne. However, after a moment to let calm settle over the group, he turned his gaze towards Elsa.

"Ms Dearbon, let me introduce myself. My name is Jason Bly and I am an agent with the CSS, which is a branch of the NSA which -" he swallowed and grinned. "Let's not get into all that just now... Let's just say I'm the man who is offering you all a chance to avoid a very lengthy stay in prison."

Fiona snorted loudly and, when he paused to look in her direction, she glared back at him, making her loathing clear. Clearing his throat, Bly continued.

"At present, I'm in charge of an investigation looking into the recent activities of Mr Axe's and Ms Glenanne's friend, Michael Westen." He paused, but as he got no response which wasn't surprising given the circumstances, he pushed on. "I've already explained the _whole_ situation to Mr Axe and he has had the sense to realize that I am your _only_ hope of getting out of this nasty mess with a life at the end of it."

"Is that what he's promised you Sam? And you fell for his bullshit?" Fiona's voice was full of scorn.

"Fi, you don't know what we're facing here, there's more -"

"More?! Of course there's more to this – there always is. Especially where _he's_ concerned." She threw Bly a look of pure hatred.

"You think I would betray Mike like this on a whim?! Card has them, that sonuvabitch has Mike and Jesse!" Sam blurted out and he instantly felt bad as Fiona went pale and for a moment he thought she was going to faint. He also bit down on his lip when he saw the calculating way Bly was studying the Irish woman.

"I'm sorry, Fi," he softened his tone. "But we're out of moves. Bly has a recording... it's part of a conversation between Mike and Card and, I tell ya, Card has got into Mikey's head. The bastard has also handed the Feds a dossier that paints all of us as traitors. There are photographs, mission logs... hell, what's in that file could get us all locked up for the rest of our lives. He's set up Elsa, too." Sam squeezed her hand as he continued. "I'm sorry Elsa, baby. Card has handed over evidence to the DEA and the IRS incriminating you in a money laundering scam."

Fiona bit down on her next comment as she thought about the bombshell Sam had just dropped on her. Michael and Jesse were in Cards hands... _Why hadn't Michael just shot the bastard?_ And Card had set up all of them to spend a lifetime in prison. She turned her attention to Bly, who seemed happy to let Sam deal with the brunt of her anger. She remembered the last time he had shown her an official looking dossier: an autopsy report detailing Michael's life ending injuries due to an explosion.

"So what's your part in this?" she asked him, her tones clipped and unfriendly. _If it hadn't been for her knowledge of explosives..._

"As I explained, I am looking into Michael Westen's relationship with Operations Chief Card."

"You're looking into locking up Michael and throwing away the key," she countered harshly.

Bly smiled ruefully. He always knew Fiona Glenanne would be a hard sell. She had a deep and abiding hatred of all government officials, even though she had ended up falling in love with one.

"Only if he deserves it and believe me when I say Sam here is playing down the charges you're all facing. What is in that dossier could easily get everyone of you the death penalty."

He paused and waited to see if Ms Glenanne was going to comment, but she remained quiet so he continued. "However the recording which fell into my lap has changed my mind on several issues."

"Agent Bly, I am a close friend of Congressman Cowley -" Elsa spoke up. She tried to sound firm and business like, but in the face of the serious charges being leveled on her, she couldn't hide the slight tremor in her tone.

"Well, good for you, Ms Dearbon, but I can assure you that friendship will not stop an investigation into your finances," Bly informed her. "Not to mention that you are at present harboring fugitives wanted by the FBI."

Elsa paled at this, as it suddenly became very clear and real to her what she had got herself into. She turned to Sam with a stricken expression, hoping that he was right and he was going to get them out of all this.

"So, get to it, Bly. You wouldn't be here talking to us unless you wanted something." Fiona was made of sterner stuff and the threat of life imprisonment was not going to scare her, at least she wasn't going to let him know how frightened she really was.

"The deal, Ms Glenanne, you'll be pleased to hear is simple. You and Mr Axe tell me everything you know about Michael's relationship with Operations Chief Card and all about what happened before, during and after Panama and in return I will do my best to keep you all out of jail and protected as my witnesses."

"And you believe him?" She glared at Sam. _How could he be so stupid as to trust a single word Bly said?_

"There _are_ no moves left on the board, Fi," Sam answered her flatly, his tone deadly serious. "And Mikey knew it. Why do you think he tried to go off on his own? He was taking us all out of the game."

"He took Jesse,"she spat back, still furious at Michael for leaving her behind.

Sam bit down on his lip. "I think Jesse invited himself, sister, and I think you should be grateful the big guy went along... You know what was on Mike's mind."

She turned to Bly again. "None of this would have happened if you'd listened to me last time. But you were more concerned with setting up Michael than-"

"I _was_ trying to get to the truth and, believe it or not, I _was_ trying to stop you throwing your life away. But right now I don't have the luxury of a lot of time. So you're just going to have to take my word for it that if you turn down my offer, your stay in Allarod will seem like a walk in the park compared to what you're facing now. Tom Card is not a man to be underestimated. He has put together a pretty compelling case and has the power to have you all disappear."

Fiona didn't want to believe anything Jason Bly had to say, but unlike the last time she had faced him, she couldn't detect a lie in his words or in his body language. Sam Axe had obviously bought into the CSS agents' present line of bull. She looked up to find Bly watching her, his expression verging on sympathetic; it was a look which made her want to hit him all the more.

"This is my very generous offer. You will answer every one of my questions and give any assistance I ask for. In return, you will be my witnesses. You'll be under the protection of the CSS. In time, once we get to the bottom of what the hell is going on, you will be released to live your lives more or less how you want. If you choose to reject this lifeline, there are federal warrants out for both your arrests. I'll just give you the highlights: twelve counts of capital murder and large scale drug trafficking, both of which carry the death penalty. Ms Dearbon, unfortunately for you, you'll most likely be tried as an accessory to your boyfriend's crimes, along with your employee David Geary who was captured with Mr. Axe outside a storage locker containing several illegal weapons and explosives."

There was silence as they looked at each other. Fiona could see why Sam had caved in. She understood and, as she stared into space, she too realized she had no choice. As much as she hated it, she was going to have to agree. Only in her case, she was going to run at the first opportunity she got. She simply didn't trust Bly... _She still had the occasional nightmare about the autopsy report he had thrust under her nose._

"Agent Bly, before I agree to any of your terms, I want to know what you have done with David," Elsa demanded.

"Mr Geary will be joining you shortly, Ms Dearbon, once we have a deal. His situation has been explained to him and he has already agreed to remain in this house with you and Ms Glenanne while this investigation is being completed. I must make one thing very clear to you all. You are all in extreme danger. Tom Card has his own people out searching for you. Until Michael is here and talking to me, you are all at risk."

_**()()**_

Meanwhile Michael was fighting his own battle.

With the echoing bang of the grenade he'd just tossed into the hotel stairwell still resonating in his skull, Michael Westen ran for the elevator shaft. Behind him, the muted screams of the injured and dying were being masked behind the sound of even more gunfire which he hoped signalled the arrival of the Indian army, finally launching their own rescue of the hostages.

Reaching the elevator shaft seconds after Jesse's head disappeared from view, the ex-spy took a quick look down into the darkness to where his companions were hastily pulling detonators out of the sticks of dynamite scattered about their escape route.

As a couple of shots came towards him, Michael edged his way onto the narrow inspection ladder and began his own descent into the dingy abyss. Below him, he could hear a whispered conference taking place between Dani and Jesse as they worked to open the doors to the twelfth floor. While off to one side Halliday was still removing detonators from nearby sticks of dynamite in an effort to reduce the explosion that was sure to come if the army returned power before clearing and securing the building.

"You two can catch up later. Get the damn doors open, Jesse!" Michael hissed and then winced as his foot slipped and the movement caused a pull on his still damaged ribs from his treatment in Panama.

"Westen, there is -" Pearce stopped trying to explain and instead pointed to the main cables hanging down the center of the shaft.

Michael had seen the det cord which was twisted around the cables, but now he saw a metal case attached to them and the antennae sticking out of the side. A bomb, with a remote trigger, sealed inside a metal box just out of reach dangling between the eleventh and twelfth floors.

"Can you defuse it?" Jesse asked, not bothering to hide his fear.

Michael shook his head. Maybe if a certain auburn haired hell cat with a love of explosives was at his side, but not on his own.

"No, there's no time. We have to get out of here," he called back. "Get the doors open."

Besides, he tried to convince himself, even with Fiona's expertise, there was no easy way to reach the bomb and he hadn't packed the tools necessary to disarm the device. It suddenly struck him that this wasn't the first time he had wished Fiona was at his side and, regardless how much he wished it was different, he knew it wouldn't be the last time he missed her company.

Michael mentally shook himself and forced all thoughts of Fiona out of his mind. With the discovery of a device which could bring down the whole building on top of them, it was now more important than ever they got out of the shaft and reached the hostages. Then, maybe with a bit of luck, they would reach the army in time and the Indian military would have access to the experts who could defuse the bomb. Clambering down the ladder to join the other two, he worked with them to free the latch which would allow them to slide the doors open manually.

As a narrow gap appeared, they could hear the voices of panicked and angry terrorists and the crackle of their guns firing into the stairwell, followed by the cries of fear from the hostages who knew their deaths were coming soon.

With Jesse behind him and Halliday on the other door with Pearce standing behind the CSS agent, they slowly opened the doors and stepped into the lobby of the twelfth floor ready to open fire. The hallway was in chaos, far worse than Michael had envisaged. Four of the terrorists were already dead, their bloody bullet riddled bodies sprawled on the floor, and three more were being kept busy firing out on the stairs. Another two were standing guard over the hostages, who were all sitting in a small alcove. It was these two men who turned to face Michael and his team as they stepped into the open.

What occurred next happened so fast there was no time to think, only time to react on instincts and years of training.

With bullets firing everywhere as the terrorists turned on these new intruders, several of the braver hostages took advantage of their guards turning their backs and launched their own assault ambushing their captors from behind and dragging them to the ground.

As the men fell back under the tide of angry, frightened men and women out for retribution, their guns continued to spray bullets towards Michael's group who had very few places to find cover.

Dani Pearce felt the hot air of one such bullet pass by her cheek and she fell backwards, her heels teetering on the edge of the shaft just before she lost the fight to gravity Halliday half turned and managed to grab at her hand to stop her falling. They locked eyes and then, as he dragged her away from the edge, she was thrown to the floor with Halliday landing heavily on top of her.

Seeing Dani fall to the floor and a spray of blood splatter on the wall above her head, Jesse lost all focus on the battle and, without thinking, he reached down and pulled Halliday off her.

"Thank god!" he gasped as he saw she was alive and unhurt.

But then his heart sunk as he realized Halliday wasn't moving. The man's back was slowly turning red as blood sluggishly leaked from a wound between his shoulder blades.

Michael meanwhile was unaware of anything other than the three men before him as he single handedly attacked the terrorists at the door to the stairwell. He had already emptied his assault rifle, firing so rapidly that his targets were unable to accurately return fire. He was about to drop his rifle and reach for his handgun when he realized the firing had stopped and all three men lay dead.

He turned to face his team and saw Pearce and Jesse at Halliday's side as blood pooled around the young man. Michael instantly hardened his heart. He could only think of Halliday as an asset. He had known the man for less then an hour. He had no room left in him to mourn another death. A vision of his little brother laying on a cold pavement, bleeding out in his arms, forced its way to the surface and he fought it back down while he continued to watch the scene unravel before him.

How Jesse's hand lay over Pearce's as they worked together in an effort to save the CSS agent's life... _His own hands covered in warm blood, his sibling's brown eyes begging him to make it all better. The life draining out of his baby brother's body... _

Michael blinked the vision away, as behind him he heard the shouts and commands of the Indian soldiers entering the floor. He dropped his weapons and raised his hands high above his head as he shouted out clearly in Urdu that they were Americans and had been hostages.

"Pearce! You wanta come over here and let them know we're the good guys." Michael called out as an Indian Captain demanded to know who he was and what he was doing with all the fire power.

As soon as Dani Pearce was at his side and flashing her credentials, claiming both himself and Jesse as employees in her counterfeiting task force, Michael left her to deal with the captain while he went to where Jesse was still kneeling beside Halliday.

As soon as Michael saw the massive exit wound in Halliday's chest, he knew the man was as good as dead. Dropping down, he looked into the younger man's pain-filled eyes and listened to his raspy rapid breaths, desperately trying not to see the similarities to another recent death.

Jesse was still working to put pressure on the wound and and talking to the dying man, trying to convince the CSS agent that he would live.

"Jesse," Michael spoke softly, "Jess, let him go." He gently took hold of his friend's hands and eased them away from the wound.

"No, no, he'll be -" Jesse looked at him in shock.

"No, he won't," Michael answered firmly.

Just then, the dying man stared up at him and feebly grabbed at Michael's arm. "Bly – h-help you – s-somebody – CIA – or-der-ed h-it on Full-er- Bly, t-ta-" Halliday's eyes glazed over and his muscles went slack as he gave up the fight.

Michael gently closed the agent's eyes and sat back on his heels. _He was now going to have to add Jason Bly and the CSS to the people and agencies hunting him down. There was no way Bly wouldn't hold him responsible for his subordinates death when he found out his man had been killed. _With a sigh, he got wearily to his feet. _If Bly hadn't been his enemy before, he would be now._

_**()()**_

Fifteen minutes later, they along with the rest of the hostages who were able to walk were being escorted out of the hotel and across the road to where the army had set up their base of operations, while inside the high rise building the battle raged on between the army and the last hold outs on the upper floors.

"We have to get out of here," Michael announced to the other two. "We're already running late."

The ex-spy knew from his previous experience with Tom Card that the man expected all his missions to be run by _his_ book and rescuing Dani Pearce had not been the top priority for the Operations Chief Card. They needed to get back on task, pick up Card's thief and get back to the US as quickly as possible.

"Running late for what?" Pearce asked. She was facing him her arms folded over her chest while her features looking tired and drawn. It had been a long couple of days for her and it was obvious that she was in no mood for any of his subterfuge.

Michael looked about the small room. Nobody was paying them any attention. The ex-hostages were all gathered in small groups and were still in shock.

"Mike, I don't think now -" Jesse's words died on his lips as both spies glared back at him.

"Yes, Jesse, _now_ is the perfect time to tell me what is going on," she shot back and then turned all her attention back onto Michael.

"Okay," Michael eyed his old agency contact. "But before I tell you anything, how about you tell me how well you know Tom Card?"

Pearce bristled. She wasn't used to being the one giving the answers, but she could see how close to the edge Michael was and how much strain Jesse was being put under, too. So she decided to be completely open with both of them.

"After my fiancé Jay was murdered... like I told you before, I was going to quit the agency. I was disillusioned with the whole thing... But they brought in Tom to speak to me. He worked with me, taking me all the way back to the basics, reminding me what it was that I loved about this job and he convinced me stay on. He is a good man, Westen. He listened and he helped me deal with my grief. I'm sorry, Michael, but you're mistaken about him. Tom Card is not the devil you're making him out to be."

Mr. Porter could see the effect her words were having on his grim friend and he jumped in quickly before the Card's former trainee could speak.

"I'm sorry, Dani, but he's not the saint you think he is," Jesse countered softly. "He might have been at one time, but not any more. He's not the man you remember..." He laid a hand on her wrist as she started to shake her head. "_I _made that recording. _I_ heard what Card said when he thought he was alone with Mike. _I_ was grabbed by Card's men and stuck in a holding cell. Dani, do you trust me?"

Agent Pearce looked from Jesse's sincere gaze to Mike's stoic scowl and back. The tension and the silence hung in the air palpably. Finally, Michael cleared his throat. It was obviously difficult for him to form the words.

"Tom Card was my training officer. I trusted him with my life then and I trusted him when I went to him to..." He couldn't finish his sentence. The weight of the betrayal that had apparently been going on for decades was too much for him. He swallowed thickly and tried to continue.

"Dani," Jesse jumped in. "You're not the only one Card's pulled the wool on. He set up us. He sent us all to Panama to get fragged by a missile. He tried to kill all of us to cover his own ass and we weren't even supposed to be here to save you. You were just a bargaining chip to get us to do his dirty work-. Dani, believe me when I tell you Card is the guy playin' us. He wants us all in a body bag or a black hole."

Pearce was still finding it hard to believe the man who had done so much for her, who had done so much for his country, could be the monster they were painting him as. She pursed her lips and, without meaning to, found herself staring into Jesse Porter's brown eyes. Her head was telling her Tom Card was a highly decorated agent, who had risen up from being a brilliant field agent to a training officer and eventually to become a Chief of Operations. He would never betray his country by lining his pockets at the expense of US interests.

And yet a pair of deep brown eyes were telling her she was wrong.

"Where's the tape?" she asked. S_he needed to see, or rather hear, the truth of the matter. She needed to hear Tom incriminating himself in treason._

"I have it somewhere safe, back in Miami," Michael answered. "If I play the tape for you, will you help us?"

She nodded. "If you have the tape, I'll do what I can to help you get it to somebody who can use it."

The change in Michael was instantaneous as the tension left his body.

"Thank you," he breathed.

"Don't thank me yet, Westen. I was sent out here in disgrace. Finding somebody willing to talk to me, let alone be willing to go up against Tom Card, isn't going to be easy."

"But it will be easier than before," Jesse added, resisting the urge to pull Dani Pearce into his arms.


	20. The Return of the Lone Wolf

**AIDEN.**

**A/N: A huge thanks to everybody reading and reviewing this story. Also thanks go out to both Jedi Skysinger and Amanda Hawthorn for reading thru, and to Jedi Skyinger's BETA skills.**

**Chapter Twenty.**

_**Return of the Lone Wolf.**_

Congressman Bill Cowley closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He wondered just how much worse his day was going to get. He was beginning to wish he had never heard the name "Elsa Dearbon," or that of her troublemaking boyfriend, Sam Axe. His ears were still ringing from the early morning phone call from Ms. Dearbon demanding answers regarding Axe's whereabouts.

"_What do you mean, you're still looking into it?! You're the head of the Intelligence Oversight Committee. I meant what I said, Bill. I've never asked you for anything before whereas you -"_

"Elsa, you have to understand, you're asking for sensitive, _classified_ information. I'm looking into Axe's whereabouts for you. It might just take some time," he had tried to explain, all the while reminding himself how much money she had personally donated to his war chest.

"_I understand that. I'm not a fool -."_

"No, no, I'm not saying you're a fool, but what you're asking for isn't going to be-" And there also how she set aside a whole floor of the Chadwick hotel for his team's use during the last election to consider as well.

"_Tomorrow, if I don't hear from you by tomorrow, I may have to review who deserves the sup -"_

"Hold on now, Elsa, threats aren't necessary." He'd tried to stop the flow of abuse on his ears. "I already have my best man looking into it. I'll call him as soon as I get into the office," he fibbed. He needed to buy himself some time. "Fair enough?" he queried, also remembering all the times she had generously donated her conference halls free of charge for the various charity functions his wife Joanne hosted each year.

"_See that you do... Goodbye, Bill."_

But that particular phone call had only been the start of his morning of misery. His eyes drifted over to where a small stack of folders; three to be precise, sat on the table top beside his empty breakfast plate.

The file at the bottom of the pile was the original copy of what they were now calling "the new Michael Westen dossier." It was approximately five inches thick and filled with an array of reports, pictures and logs, all of which painted Westen and his cohorts as traitors and criminals.

If he hadn't gotten the previous call from Elsa Dearbon asking for his help to find her boyfriend, who appeared to have completely dropped out of sight, he might have taken this dossier at face value. However, the speed with which it had arrived on his desk after he had first spoken to OC Card had piqued his curiosity. The dossier had arrived within hours of him requesting information, which in and of itself was unusual. But he had always been a little bit suspicious of Tom Card. _N__obody rose up the ranks as quickly as the former training officer did unless they were exceptional – or dirty. _Since being named the Head of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, he had kept a wary eye on him, but recognized Card was a powerful man who had been very useful_._

The middle file contained CSS Agent Jason Bly's twenty three page preliminary report which debunked virtually everything in the first file. On the inside cover were two CDs, one holding a copy of a partial conversation between Westen and the present Operations Chief for the South America region, in which the OC Card incriminated himself in two recent high profile murders, a fifteen year old conspiracy and in running black bag ops for his own ends. The recording was unusable as evidence in a trial, but it was a great starting point for the spy catcher's investigation.

The second CD contained recordings of the CSS interrogations of Sam Axe, Barry Burkowski and David Geary. The only one of any particular interest to the congressman was that of Sam Axe. He remembered the previous times he'd run into Elsa's now boyfriend and his dark haired friend.

And that brought Bill Cowley to the file on the top of the stack; The proposed immunity deal for Axe and his friends and another reason for the massive tension headache building up behind his eyes.

It rankled the good congressman that they needed to make any sort of deal with Axe, Westen and Glenanne. But he knew full well that any case they brought against Tom Card was going to have to be water tight if it was to succeed. Squinting, he used the fingers of his right hand to massage his temple.

Some of it was hard to stomach. He grimaced as he worried if the risk he was taking was not worth the potential reward... If Tom Card found out he was under investigation... Cowley shuddered. If the operations chief was guilty of half the stuff Bly had already dug up, it would be enough to convict him as a traitor ten times over. _There was no telling what such a man might do if he discovered he was under investigation and became desperate._

And it had been precisely that thought which had sent his hand to snatch up his official phone and put a call through to CSS Agent Bly, shortly after his call from Ms. Dearbon.

"_Bly."_

"Cowley here," he identified himself and got straight down to business. "Give it to me straight, Bly. Is there any way you can make what you've already uncovered stick?"

"Without Westen? It's doubtful, sir... But, with Westen as our star witness -"

"Make the deal." The words had nearly stuck in his throat. "Get Axe and Glenanne to sign. If we have his team locked into an agreement, he'll have no choice but to come over to my side."

"_Glenanne will be – difficult... Do you want me to proceed even if she won't sign?"_

"You remind Ms. Glenanne there's an MI-6 agent just waiting for the State department to approve her extradition. Then inform her that she can be either a protected witness of the CSS or an accomplice to a rogue CIA agent, which means the US government will be only too happy to turn over a wanted terrorist to their friends from across the pond."

"I'll inform the lady of her choices, sir."

_One little psychotic Irish terrorist was not going to impede his opportunity to remove what was hopefully the last of a cabal of rogue CIA agents and, of course, if in the process he increased his own political standing, so be it. Being the one who had gotten Vaughn Anderson arrested and brought his organization's NOC list before Congress had gotten him __a second term as the Head of the Intelligence Oversight Committee. Bringing in a rogue agent of Tom Card's standing would get him a place at the table of the Presidential Intelligence Advisory Board._

And thinking about a promotion, which would give him direct access to the President, made Bill Cowley feel a lot better. With Axe and Glenanne under lock and key and cooperating, that just left bringing Westen into line... _If __Card hadn't already killed him, that is_. Once they had Westen, his new position would be within reach.

"Sir?"

Cowley glanced up as his aide came into the room.

"Sorry, sir, but you have a visitor... Operations Chief Card is waiting in the library."

_Great, just what I need to make my day complete and it it isn't even nine o'clock. _Cowley scowled at his aide and then turned his attention back to the folders. _If Card discovered_... He gulped and then picked up the two lighter folders. "Take these and put them in the office safe." He looked around checking if there was any more incriminating evidence lying around. "Then show Card in."

_**()()()()**_

_**Mumbai.**_

"Don't thank me yet, Westen." Agent Dani Pearce remarked, her gaze fixed on Michael. "I was sent out here in disgrace. Finding somebody willing to talk to me, let alone willing to go up against Tom Card, isn't going to be easy."

"But it will be easier than before," Jesse added softly, visibly relaxing now they had somebody official on their side who they could trust.

"We'll have to wait and see about that," Pearce answered, her eyes flickering over in the direction of the younger man before getting back to business at hand and turning her attention back to Westen. "Now, what did you mean before when you said you were running late?"

Michael stared back at his former agency contact, trying to decide how much to confide in her. They had worked well together in the past, despite _him _lying to _her_ repeatedly; but that was before she admitted to knowing Tom Card and he had lost everything which had meaning for him.

"Westen?" Pearce growled, her patience finally at an end.

Biting down on his bottom lip, he knew he had to say something, but what? His confidence had slipped so far since the discovery that his old training officer was the man behind his brother's death his first instinct was to distrust everybody.

"Hey, Mike," Jesse added and now he knew he was definitely taking too long to answer.

_He had no choice. He had to trust her. They needed her help. _He quickly glanced around the room. There were few men guarding the exits, all the former hostages had settled down now that the strain of their ordeal was over. Most importantly, nobody was close enough to listen to his words.

"I'm going to convince Card I'm his man. I'm going to get close to him and dig up all the evidence I can. Hopefully, I'll get enough to bring him down - _and_ anybody working with him."

She caught the veiled threat. But apart from a small huff, she let the comment go. Instead she turned her attention to the missing members of Westen's usual team. "Where are Sam and Fiona?" she asked, looking around as if she was expecting them to suddenly appear.

"They're not here. I cut them loose. They're out of it," Michael snapped, sending a glare in Jesse's direction. "This is between _me_ and Tom."

"_No!"_ Pearce hissed, remembering just in time to keep her voice down. "Let me be clear here. I won't help you become a vigilante. If you want my help, you will run this just like an official op. You'll follow procedures on any intel you gather, or all your work, _everything_ you do ,will be for nothing." She paused, making sure they both understood how serious she was. "It's the only way to make sure that this doesn't blow back on you."

Michael heard what was unspoken... _or your friends_. He looked from the dark haired woman's determined stare to Jesse, who was clearly in agreement with her, and back to Dani.

Only when Michael nodded his agreement did she continue. "Good, now what's the _real_ reason for you being here?"

"We're here to do an extraction. There is a guy waiting for us at a hotel near the airport. He's stolen some piece of tech for Card. We're supposed to pick him up and get him onto a black flight back to Miami."

She continued to stare, not believing for one minute it was that easy.

"Oh, yea, Mike forgot to mention home boy is being watched and we've got to sneak him out from under the noses of a security detail belonging to the company whose tech he just boasted," Jesse added.

"That doesn't matter." Michael dismissed the younger man's concerns. "I have a plan... Can we go now?" _They had wasted enough time. He wanted to get back to Miami and get to the job of putting Card in the ground before anything else could go wron__g; before the bastard had a chance to track down Fiona and Sam._

"I have to talk to my people before I go anywhere with you, Westen," Pearce said.

"We don't have time for –" Michael made a grab for the senior agent's arm, his fingers digging into her bicep, but she pulled free.

"I'm not just abandoning them. I am responsible for these people. Give me a minute." And she moved away before he could stop her.

He stared after her as she walked over to the small group of men and women who had been watching them surreptitiously from across the room.

"So what's the plan, my man?" Jesse asked, his eyes following the swaying movements of the dark haired woman's pony tail as she crossed the room.

_He sounds happy,_ Michael thought. _I wonder how happy he's going to be when he hears my plan?_

"I'll tell you about it when we get to the hotel." He flashed the younger man a reassuring smile. _No need to cause a scene here._

"What about -" Mr. Porter turned to face his companion.

"Not now, Jess'…" Michael nudged his arm as Pearce left her team. "Time to go."

The three men guarding the room were far more interested in their discussion on what was happening across the road in the Golden Palace Hotel, so it was easy for the three Americans to sneak out. Disappearing into the rest rooms, it took a matter of seconds for them to climb out of the windows and drop into the alley behind the building.

"So, where now?" Dani asked as Jesse caught hold of her arm, helping to steady her when she landed from the ten foot drop out of the window.

"To the hotel and then back home," the younger man answered, reluctantly letting her go as Michael led the way through the narrow streets.

Avoiding the patrols, they eventually cleared the military lines and returned to where they had left the car Michael had stolen earlier. Agent Pearce made no comment about the ripped out ignition or the damage done to the driver's side door frame where it had been bent outward so the door locks could be bypassed. On an op, you did what you had to do.

_**()()**_

Back in their hotel room, Michael sat down heavily on his bed and stared at the floor. He knew that both Jesse and Dani were going to hate what he had to say. But it was time to inform them both about how the rest of this mission to bring down Tom Card was going go. Bringing out the case holding all the paperwork and passports, Michael sorted through the documents until he found what he was looking for and handed Jesse two US passports, the one Jesse had used to get into India and another which held a photograph of Dani Pearce but in the name of Helen O'Shea.

"What's this?" Jesse asked suspiciously as he studied the passports. "We're going now? I thought we'd wait until -"

"_If_ we go back together, Card is going to continue to use you both as leverage." Michael busied himself opening the compartments on the case, which held their few remaining weapons. "So, I'm going to take Card's thief back on my own... while you two take your passports and get on the first available flight to Dubai." He pushed on, even as Jesse started to protest, talking over the younger man's objections. "You don't need visas as US citizens to get into the Emirates. Once you're out of the airport, go to this address." He scribbled down the details. "Ask for Aziz. Tell him giving you both new identities clears his debt to me."

"Uh, no, ah- ah!" Jesse shook his head emphatically. "No way! _We're_ doin' this together, remember?"

"If you really believe Tom is as dangerous as you say, you _can't_ go back to Miami without backup... It's too risky," Pearce chimed in, adding her voice to the argument.

Michael stood up straight and fixed them both with a steely gaze. As far as he was concerned, this wasn't up for discussion. _He couldn't do this any more. He couldn't work, couldn't go after Card while he had to watch over everybody he cared about and worry about what was happening to them. There was a reason why as a spy he had cut himself off from any sort of relationship. Miami had weakened him, softened his resolve and look what had happened._

"NO! I can't do this if I have to watch out for you both. You'll do this my way."

He paced around the small room, his fingers raking through his hair. He was tired, worn down by the never ending battles; he was sick to death of losing people. _He was going to do this alone and afterwards, if he was still alive …..._

Taking a deep breath, he took back his self control and turned to face his companions, reading their concern at his agitated state. Forcing himself to calm down and softening his expression ,he gave them both a toothy smile filled with sincerity. "I'll work Card from the inside. You two can do more good getting the tape recording to somebody who can use it... _Once_ I've got enough intel for a conviction, I'm going to need somebody to pass it all on to. _That's_ where you two come in."

"Okay, man. We'll do this your way." Jesse let out a sigh. Dani might have been there with them when Nate Westen had died. But she hadn't been there all the time during the aftermath like he had to see how much Nate's death had effected Michael or how Madeline Westen's vitriol-filled grief and anger had nearly destroyed her oldest son."But, you've gotta promise me, you're not gonna kill Card... We need him alive if we're all gonna get out of this." He was also becoming a quick study on how to handle the volatile spy.

In truth, Michael couldn't make that promise. The more he thought about Tom Card, the more he felt the urge to put a bullet in his former training officer's head. As far as he was concerned, there was no other way to ensure the safety of his remaining friends and family. Left alive, even if they dropped Card into the darkest hole the CIA could find, there was still a risk the man would have the reach to make their lives a misery.

"I just want you and Pearce on the outside while I work the inside. That's all." The carefully worded reply slipped easily from Michael's lips.

When neither of them challenged him, Michael gathered up his passport and the documents necessary to get Card's thief, Sam Pandit, through Customs and Immigration and walked towards the door. He was feeling better now he had won; a tiny bit of the stress he felt lifted off his shoulders.

"I'm gonna give you four hours to get out of Mumbai. As soon as I get on the flight with Pandit, Card is going to know something is wrong. Four hours should be enough time for you two to get out of India and disappear. When you get into Dubai, don't hang around. The guy I'm sending you to is good, but he is known to the agency. But it'll take Card time to trace where you've gone and then get a team there." He paused again, reaching out to shake the younger man's hand before he continued. "As soon as you can, get across to Cairo and then get on a boat over to Greece. It should be enough to slow down the search for you. When you get back to Miami, look up Barry. He knows how to find the tape... Be careful, you two." Michael released Jesse's hand and nodded towards Dani before turning on his heel and marching away.

He was half way out of the door when Pearce called him back. "Westen, promise me _you'll _follow protocols. That you are just going to gather intelligence and you'll hand it over to the authorities to deal with Tom."

Michael smiled, looked her straight in the eyes and lied. "I promise. Four hours," he cautioned. "I suggest you two each grab a bag so you'll pass for tourists and then get over to the airport." And then he was gone.

Dani pursued her lips and stared wordlessly at the door. In the time, she had spent working with Michael Westen, she had learned exactly how relentless he could be and the thought of him out there unsupervised... A shiver went down her spine. "Do you think we should let him go off alone?"

Jesse raised his arm as if to drape it over her shoulder, but then thought better of it. Instead he hurriedly grabbed the two smallest suitcases. "You _do_ know Mike Westen, right? You think we stand any chance whatsoever of stopping him?"

_**()()()()**_

_**Miami.**_

"I can't stay here." Elsa got to her feet, her expression taunt with fear and concern, fearful of the threat of prison and concern that Sam was facing far worse.

"I assure you, Ms. Dearbon, this is -" Bly started to speak, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"No, you _don't _understand. I _have_ to go to work... If this man, _this_ Tom Card, is watching me and I disappear won't that warn him that something is wrong? I have to go. I have a business to run."

Sam was on his feet too, his good arm wrapping around his girlfriend's waist. "She's right, Bly. Card is gonna be watching everybody connected to us. If Elsa drops outta sight -"

"Fine," The CSS agent huffed, "But, if you're going back to your hotel, you're going back with a couple of new security personnel and the rest of you are staying here."

"I'll put two of your men on my security team." Elsa was willing to agree to virtually anything the CSS agent said. "But isn't there a chance I'll be followed back here later?"

"No, you've misunderstood me, Ms Dearbon. If you're going back to the hotel, that's where you're going to stay.. You can't come back here. It'll be too much of a risk," Bly pointed out.

"Sam?" She couldn't believe that was her choice. If she stayed, there was a chance Sam's enemy would find out about her house and, if she left to go back to her life running her business, she wouldn't be allowed to see her boyfriend again until the investigation was over.

"I think it would be best if you left, baby," Sam answered softly, trying to hide his emotions. "It'll be safer for you at the Chadwick."

Elsa looked from Sam and then to Fiona and finally to Agent Bly, her eyes filling with tears.

"Very well," she answered stiffly. "I'll pack my bags."

"I'll come with you. We have to talk." Sam followed her out of the room. "It'll be fine, baby, you'll see." Fiona and Bly listened as Sam and Elsa's voices faded as they went upstairs.

Jason Bly waited until the room was silent, taking the opportunity to study the Irish woman close up for the first time since she gave herself up to the FBI. There was something different about her. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, a vulnerability of some sort. She had nearly fainted when Axe had told her that her boyfriend was with Card.

The woman who had calmly read her lover's autopsy report without batting an eye had reeled and almost passed out at the mere mention of Westen being under the thumb of his former mentor. _Was it just that Tom Card was that bad or something more? _Then, there was the way Axe had been acting, the former Navy SEAL had all but demanded she be left alone, just to be given her immunity without having to answer for any of her numerous crimes... _Was she sick?_

Whatever the reason, he knew one thing for sure. Fiona Glenanne was not willingly going to stay under house arrest. At the first opportunity, she would run off to chase down Westen all by herself.

He cleared his throat before speaking. "I can understand why you're unhappy with this arrangement. But it would be best for _everybody_ if you just accepted my offer."

She looked him up and down, her blue-green eyes filled with hatred. "Best? And who was your last offer to help me into betraying Michael best for?"

He smiled back her, reminding her of a shark. It was a very similar to the ones all the other agency bastards wore when they were sure they had won. CIA, FBI, MI6… they all the same.

"Once you sign on the dotted line, this deal ties you in as my witness. It will _protect_ you and, believe me, Fiona, you need my protection right now." He saw her look of utter disdain and continued to give her the rest of the bad news. "Sam didn't give you the whole picture. You're in trouble, Ms Glenanne, a lot of trouble. There is a MI-6 agent pushing the State Department to expedite your return to the UK on terrorist charges."

Fiona swallowed thickly. She knew exactly who Bly was talking about, the British spy who had tried to take her out of Allarod Federal prison.

"You see the chemical signature on the bomb which murdered some of the twelve CIA agents who died in Panama comes back to your family. And as you were the only Glenanne present... Well, you can see how that must look. It certainly proves his case that you are a dangerous terrorist. _My_ guess is, if the US government doesn't want you for the murder of US government agents, then they will authorize your forcible removal back to your homeland."

"And if I sign your piece of paper, I won't be prosecuted here or turned over to the British? I'll be free and allowed to stay here in the US?"

The words coming out her mouth surprised Fiona as much as the man facing her. Bly was most likely lying; there probably was no deal. But out of nowhere she had been hit by a sudden powerful urge to protect the tiny group of cells growing inside her. This was no longer about her or Michael, it was about their child. So she was going to play things safe. She would stop openly fighting with the agent and play along until she could plan her escape.

She just managed to stop her hand from protectively going to cover her belly._ She was going to have to do something about this MI-6 bastard who was coming after her, too._

Bly hadn't expected Fiona Glenanne to give in so easily. He stared at her in wonder. _Was that a glimpse of real fear he had seen in her eyes?_ It was only for a fraction of a second, but it wasn't anything he had ever seen before. He knew there had been some attempts on her life while in Allarod prison. _Could that be it?_

_**()()()()**_

_**Mumbai.**_

Michael wasted no time, he had reconnaissance to do, a plan to instigate and he had to do it all on his own. He paused as he stared into the hotel restaurant, thinking about what he had done. He had deliberately cut himself off from his friends, from Fiona. He was probably never going to see any of them again.

He flinched, resisting the urge to go back to the hotel room and tell Jesse he had made a mistake. _They could all run, Aziz could make three new identities as easily as two and then they could find Fi and Sam. _He stiffened and put an end to the wishful thinking._ That would last maybe a week before Card found us all and then we'd all be dead or locked up for the rest of our lives on trumped up charges. No, this is the only way to keep them all safe. You've tried it their way and it didn't work out._

With a sigh, Michael turned his attention back to the restaurant and in particular to the short, round shouldered, slightly balding man sitting at a table of one in the corner of the room. Sam Pandit looked more like a desk jockey than the top flight corporate thief Card's file had described. Getting this man out was not going to be as easy as he thought. It was at that moment his experienced eyes picked out the three person team watching Sam Pandit eat a chicken curry, washed down with an iced tea.

Turning away, Michael was just in time to see Jesse's back as he, along with the tall slender figure of Dani Pearce, exited the hotel through the front doors and got into a waiting taxi.

It was time now to make his own travel arrangements. Just like any major city in the world, traffic in Mumbai during rush hour was going to be hectic. But with the right form of transport, he could use the crush of vehicles blocking up the roads to his advantage. Moving swiftly towards the doors, he set out to find what he needed. He had promised Jesse a four hour head start. That would be plenty of time to do what was necessary.

_**()()**_

Three and a half hours later, dinners were still being served in the restaurant and a few people took up the seats in the reception listening to the soft music which came through the speakers hidden high up on the walls. Sam Pandit was back in his room, sitting on his bed trying to watch TV, while becoming increasingly worried about how he was ever going to get out of India alive. He had been promised help to get out of country and safe passage back to his adopted homeland of the United States. But so far he hadn't seen the promised team of Special Forces.

Outside the hotel, standing in the shadows across the street, watching the room occupied by Mr. Pandit, a tall well built man leaned back against the wall and yawned. He was tired after his four hour shift and bored as he had another four hours still to go. He never heard the figure who came up behind him and had no memory of the arm which circled his neck, dragging him further into the shadows before he passed out.

A few minutes later, two things happened at once. A gun attached to a boat rescue flare hidden in a flower pot near the reception desk began to fire off shots. The loud bangs sent the hotel patrons running out of the building or cowering under cover. Three hotels had already been under siege; was this to be a fourth?

The second event was masked by the noise from the first. After choking one of the surveillance detail watching Pandit, Michael had rushed over to the outer wall of the thief's room and hurriedly removed the screws from the AC unit. He then carefully wedged a tire iron into the gap he created and, as he heard the scared screams of guests evacuating the hotel, he tore the AC out of the wall and stuck his head through the gap.

"Hey, you! Ready to get out of here? Better come with me if you want to live."

They stared at each other through the hole, steely blue eyes boring into scared brown orbs while Michael tried to shake off the shock that he had just cribbed a line from the Terminator.

_I really am starting to lose it, _he thought humorlessly. He needed to wrap this mess up and personally host Tom Card's 9 mm retirement party before he really did come unglued.

The screaming had stopped and voices were coming from all around the hotel. Any minute now, they were going to be discovered. In the distance came the sound of police sirens, which probably meant a counter terrorist unit from the army was on it's way too.

"Come on, Tom Card sent me," he urged the little thief to hurry up.

Grabbing Sam Pandit by the arm, Michael dragged him through the gap and rushed him over to where he had left the motorcycle he had stolen earlier. Thrusting a crash helmet into the other man's hands, Michael quickly pulled on his own and fired up the bright red Honda Super Blackbird. As soon as he felt his passenger land in the seat behind him, Michael twisted the throttle open and took the superbike rapidly through it's gears.

Trying to keep the motorcycle on two wheels while travelling at close to eighty miles an hour, weaving through the heavy traffic and occasionally mounting the pavement with Card's procurement specialist clinging onto him so tightly he could barely breathe was quite a challenge. All Michael could think of was how much easier this had been the last time he'd had to race a motorcycle to an airport. At least that time he had only to contend with his own injuries, instead of a nervous pillion who was trying to climb up his back.

At least he could look forward to passing out in first class without the convulsions this time.


	21. The Voices in My Head

**AIDEN.**

**A/N: _A big thank you to everybody who is still reading this story, and especially to those who take the time to review. A special thanks goes out to the wonderful Jedi Skysinger who has found the time in her busy schedule to read thru and Beta for me. Also thanks to Amanda Hawthorn and DaisyDay for keeping me smiling everyday with their messages and of course all the burners on Twitter and FB. _ **

**_Chapter Twenty One._**

**The Voices in My Head.  
**

After a wild ride through the streets of Mumbai, easily losing the couple of men who had been keeping watch over the corporate thief in the heavy rush hour traffic, Michael brought the stolen motorcycle to a halt outside a bar close to Chhatrapati Shivaji international airport. He knew they had very little time left to get out of the country before the ways out were closed to them.

"You can get off now." Michael called out, his voice muffled by the crash helmet.

When he got no response, he made an effort to pry the fingers of his terrified passenger away from where they gripped his shirt. _This was ridiculous. They needed to keep moving if they were going to stay ahead of Pandit's previous employers._

"Get off," he ordered, but Sam Pandit didn't move or relax his grip. "You can let go now, we've - just." He was beginning to lose his temper with the little guy. "Look, if you want to get outta here, you're gonna have to let go of me and _get off!_"

Finally, freed of the little thief's death grip, Michael climbed off the motorcycle. Pulling his own crash helmet off and then that of the thief, swivelling his head first one way and then the other, the spy carefully scanned the area, pleased to see that for the time being nobody was paying them any attention.

"You got it with you?" he asked, fixing Pandit with a steely eyed stare.

Pandit opened and shut his mouth several times and then when he saw the look in his rescuer's eyes and gulped.

But he was taking too long to answer. "You've got what our mutual friend wants? What you were paid for?"

"Y-yes." He scrabbled at his jacket and pulled a thumb drive from his pocket, showing it Michael. "Here. I got it all."

The spy pursed his lips; the drive was useless to him. They couldn't risk staying in Mumbai while he found somewhere to make copy and, even if he copied it, he suspected it would be heavily encrypted. Also, the CIA plane was waiting on the tarmac. If he failed to turn up on time, Card wouldn't hesitate to order a black bag operation to end his star pupil's life.

Leaving the device in Pandit's hand, Michael made another quick scan of the surrounding area before turning back to his nervous companion.

"Okay, deep breaths," he advised wrapping his arm around the other man's shoulders. "We have all the right documents and we're travelling on a company plane. This is the easy part." He barred his teeth in a confident smile. "_All_ we have to do is walk into the airport, like there is nothing wrong."

Just as Michael predicted, they sailed through customs and immigration, Tom Card had obviously gone the extra mile in greasing the wheels for his operative. Michael wondered what Pandit had stolen that had Card go to this much effort. Military technology could mean all sorts of nasty things. _He would have to keep his eyes open for an opportunity to find out._

As soon as they got on the plane, the two agents who had stayed on board both looked outside and then while one pulled Pandit off to one side, the other came over to where Michael was already dropping into his seat and organizing the straps of his seat belt.

"We can't hang around, where are Porter and Pearce? We heard all about you storming that woman's hotel first instead of doing your job." The agent snapped.

"I cut them loose," Michael reported calmly. He could guess how Card had reacted to the news of his agent on the ground going off script. "I wanted to get Card's boy here in one piece and this was the best way to do it. Porter and Pearce will get themselves out." He flashed his former training officer's flunky a cocky grin. "Don't worry, they'll be fine."

The agent didn't look happy about the news. With a huff of disapproval, he held out his hand. "I need your weapons and, once we're airborne, I'll bring you the paperwork you need to fill in for all the kit you left behind and to explain why you couldn't follow orders for a quiet extraction."

Getting back to his feet, Michael removed the couple of guns he still had on his person before retaking his seat. He doubted that any report he wrote on his activities in India would ever be filed away in Langley. But once the plane was cruising above the clouds, he dutifully began to write out his version of what occurred on his Indian assignment.

But the paperwork only took up so much of his time and, after awhile, he found his mind drifting as he stared out of the window at the darkness of the night sky. It was going to be a long flight and, as soon as he landed, he was going to have to work on tricking the man who had trained him into believing he was willing to forgive and forget his brother's murder for a life as a traitor and trunk load of cash. He blinked and sighed. What he wouldn't give to have his team's light-hearted banter to distract him from where his thoughts were going.

"Can I get you something to eat or drink, Agent Westen?"

One of the flights stewards smiled down at him, her words breaking through his gloomy thoughts.

"Thanks." He gave her a tired smile. "Can you get me a Scotch? No ice."

It had been an early lesson in Spycraft 101, ice dilutes alcohol, allowing you to make it appear you've drunk more than you actual had. But he wasn't looking to appear drunk. At the moment he just wanted something to dull the ache in his soul. He had a sixteen hour flight before he had to face Tom Card again. _Sixteen hours of having nothing to do to occupy his time was too much free time to think about what he had lost. No, not lost... Thrown away._

He took an appreciative sip of the single malt scotch and let his head lay back against the head rest. Half an hour later, the empty glass sat upright balanced on his lap and his head lolled to the side resting against the window. When the stewardess came over to offer him a refill, he smiled and held up the glass.

Another glassful would aid a dreamless sleep, and that's was all he was after. A chance to rest without accusing blue green eyes staring back at him.

"_After we get Grey I'll leave, I'm out."_ He blinked as the words he had spoken came back to haunt him.

"_The CIA?" _

"_All of it."_ He had sincerely meant it. He'd been thinking about it for some time. It had taken Anson Fullerton to show him how much damage his obsession was doing to the people he loved.

"_Don't say that if you don't mean it."_

"_I do. How does that sound?"_ He'd had no regrets when he had said those words. Only a deep warmth as she had smiled back at him. It was all he wanted to do now: make Fiona Glenanne happy.

"_Well, if we live long enough to see that happen, it sounds really good."_

It had sounded good. It was what he had wanted... What he still wanted, but it was impossible now. Sighing, he raised up the large cut glass tumbler filled with amber liquid... _Scotch Neat_, he smirked at the irony, _Tom Card's favorite drink of choice_. He emptied the glass in two large swallows.

**()()()()()()**

Once Jason Bly left the Palm Island property taking Sam's girl friend Elsa Dearbon with him, Fiona began to tear through the house muttering under her breath about bastard government spies and their toys. Followed room to room by Sam Axe and Elsa's bodyguard David Geary, she managed to find four tiny listening devices hidden in the lounge and another two in the kitchen. She also tore two mini-cameras out of the walls.

Smashing the electronics down on the kitchen work top, she glared at the two men. Most of her wrath was clearly being directed at the older of the two males.

"And these are only the ones I can find," she declared angrily. "You can be damn sure they're not the only ones. I bet there's at least one sneaky sonuvabitch out thar wit' a directional mic." She shot Sam a scathing look. "C.S.S., Sam. Counter. Surveillance. Service. They fecking spy on their own people... for...a...living."

"We'll run another sweep." The former Seal tried to reason with the livid Irishwoman. "Set up one room which we'll keep clean. If we remove everything they'll just put 'em back in place or claim we're obstructing the investigation. We've gotta play this smart, Tinkerbell."

Fiona hissed at him and then pushed by David Geary. "If I find a single bug or camera in my bedroom, I swear ta God I _will_ break outta here and stick every bit o' technology I find up Bly's ass."

The two men remained silent as Fiona footsteps could be heard stamping up the wooden staircase and onto the landing.

"Is she gonna calm down? I mean, in her -" Geary closed his mouth at the look Sam sent him.

"Not any time soon. My advice is stay outta her way and be prepared to duck if she starts throwing stuff." Sam looked his girlfriend's bodyguard up and down. "On second thought, just stay out of her way."

Upstairs in her room, Fiona searched every surface, crack, and nail hole. She pulled away skirting boards where they had been fixed, dismantled light fittings and removed the covers from the wall sockets.

The bug in her bedside light was almost an insult, as she had found it immediately. However, the camera she found had been placed in the wall and she guessed it's position would have given anybody watching a good view of two thirds of her room including the bed.

Thoroughly pissed and nearly demoralized, she dropped down on to the mattress fighting back the tears that threatened to flow. _This was so unlike her, but she was so damned tired._ Laying back, she stared up at the ceiling and tried to calm her rampaging emotions.

It was barely a week ago Michael had made the promise that after they got Tyler Grey, they would be together. He had sworn it. Yet here she was stuck with Sam because Michael had run off in the middle of the night – yet again. _Was she some kind of fool to keep believing his line of crap?_

Her hand strayed to lay protectively over her stomach, the cramps were now few and far between and so light that she hardly felt them. _Was that a good sign? _She scowled. _Well, there's no way of telling now is there? Not unless you want to let Bly and the whole bloody intelligence community know you're carrying Michael Westen's baby._

Fiona sniffed as she silently berated herself. Rubbing furiously at her eyes, she sat up and moved restlessly over to the window. There was no use worrying about things she couldn't change. She spotted one of Bly's men, just a glimpse of his arm as he tried to get comfortable in his hiding spot behind a load of garbage cans.

Less than an hour ago, she had made the decision to do what Sam had asked and give the deal with the CSS a chance. But finding all of Bly's toys had sent her turbulent emotions into a 180 degree turnabout. Resting her forehead against the window, she watched the spot where the agent was hiding. _Did he have a directional microphone out there? Or was he going to be __staring up at her bedroom with a thermal imaging camera? Maybe he was just a sentry... It was no better than being in Allarod... At least there she had the choice to hide in her cell._

That thought brought her up short. When had being stuck in a house under construction become worse than being trapped in a prison with the "worst of the worst" who were trying to kill her daily?

_As soon as she had discovered she had someone more important than Michael Westen to protect._

She had to find a way out of the house and past the men guarding it. Once out on her own, she could sneak in to see that woman doctor they helped a few years ago, Laura, over in Homestead.

She could also make a call to her brothers, warn them that a MI6 agent was out to cause mischief. She winced at the thought of how that particular conversation would go. Maybe she would speak to Sean first. He had at least supported her decision to stay with her American spy. When she called, he would call her every name under the sun and then curse her seven ways 'til Sunday for dropping this bombshell on him. But, in the end, he would speak to Liam and admit he had been keeping in contact with their sister.

She knew how hard it had been for him. Sean had been on his way back to Ireland when the news of her relationship with an American spy had broken on the shores of her homeland. Instantly, all the old suspicions had come back to the foreground. And as she wasn't there, those who hated the name Glenanne found another easier target.

_Early one morning, two days before Sean landed in Galway, his Irish-English wife, Rosanna had gotten up and began her daily morning ritual of calling the children to get ready for school, before going downstairs to make breakfast for her brood of four. A knock at the door was nothing unusual and without a thought she had opened it, expecting the postman to be stood there wanting her to sign for a parcel._

_She had only opened it a crack when she had been knocked to the floor as two men had forced their way inside. "I have a message fer yar man when he gets back home... He can pass it on ter his whore o' sister." _

_They had beat her to an inch of her life, only stopping when her screams had alerted her two oldest to the danger. She had passed out by the time Sian and Peter appeared and drove the men out of the house with hockey sticks. _

_Then while Sian had dropped to her mother's side and began caring for her injuries, Peter had called up his uncles. Seamus first because he lived close by and then Liam, because Liam would be the one who would deal with what was happening._

_Sean had told her all about the beating Rosanna had taken and how in the following weeks, while he was still too weak to be much use, Liam set about putting an end to the rumours about his little sister sleeping with an American spy._

If she was returned to Ireland, it would spark everything off again. Her family, who had nothing to do with this present situation, would be back defending themselves against what she had done. And if it came out she was pregnant with the American spy's baby.

_"Would ya let 'em take me, Liam?" _

She'd asked her brother that question when the rumors had first started surfacing, when Michael had abandoned her in Dublin.

_"I'd kill 'em all, I'd burn down the whole feckin' organization," _had been his reply and, just like when he had spoken those words, the memory of his voice filled with repressed violence was enough to make her blood run cold.

She blinked away a tear. How helpless had she become that she needed her big brother to chase away the nasty British Spy out to kill her and her family. _Damn you, Michael Westen!_

**()()()()()()**

_Standing alone in the large mirror walled elevator, he felt his fingers twitch nervously. Stepping out onto the ninth floor, he hurried down the hallway and was just in time to see a waitress close the door to what had to be Card's room and walk away. Reaching the room, he paused until the waitress was out of sight and then knocked loudly on the door._

_As the door began to open, he erupted into action. Smashing the door back onto its hinges with a powerful kick, he sent Tom Card flying backwards and onto the floor._

_Stunned and lying flat on the hard marble tiled floor, Tom Card looked up at him calmly. "Hello there." _

_"Show me your hands, Tom." He closed the door with his foot, all the time keeping his gun trained on his old mentor as the older man slowly shuffled backwards._

_"Michael Westen, back from the dead." Card slowly got to his feet. "What are you going to do? Shoot me?"_

_His lips curled into a snarl and the burning hatred in his heart suddenly froze as it came too much for him to bear. When the shot rang out, he felt nothing at all. The sight of his former father figure falling backwards had no more effect on him than when he had taken out an anonymous target as an army ranger. _

_He stared down at the body, his eyes fixed on the small hole in Tom Card's forehead before raising up to where blood and brain matter were splattered the wall and floor behind the deceased Operations Chief... And he felt _happy.

Michael woke with a start as the plane started to rock and judder as they hit a small pocket of turbulence. Realizing he had been dreaming and that Tom Card was unfortunately still breathing, he slumped back and looked down at his empty glass. Getting drunk, especially mid assignment was never a good idea. Training Officer Card would have thrown a full blown fit if he caught his star pupil being anything other than fully alert and functioning at an optimum level.

"Hey, sweetie!" He leaned out of his chair and looked down the aisle to where the stewards were sitting with Card's flunkies. "A refill, please, when you've gotta a moment." Pissing off a murdering traitorous bastard seemed like a good way of spending the rest of the flight.

Ignoring the disapproving look of the pretty blonde who replenished his glass, Michael took a sip and grimaced as his stomach complained at the unusual amount of spirits it was being asked to deal with.

Would killing Card back at the hotel have been such a bad thing? He sighed as his thoughts turned to what if he had done things differently. What if he had just walked into the Card's hotel room and shot him in the head like he had wanted to. Would it had made things any better?

Closing his eyes, he tried to run through the scenario. He would have been on the run from that moment onwards. The CIA would have instigated a full scale manhunt. His mom would have been questioned for hours. She would have been put under FBI surveillance. She would have become the mother of a traitor with news trucks parked on her lawn and fingers pointing at her every time she went outside.

His friends lives would have been pulled to pieces. Fiona... He paused and emptied the glass for a third time. Fiona would have lost her deal with the CIA. She would have gone back to prison and eventually been extradited to Britain; that is, of course, if she lasted that long.

He wiped a hand over his brow and sucked up the heartache the thoughts brought him. No, this way was better, cleaner. Killing Card would have brought a world of hurt down on them all. Even if he'd managed to find proof of his old mentor's guilt, nobody would have believed him.

This way he would keep everybody else out of it. He would work on finding the evidence to prove Card was a traitor while trying to stop the bastard doing any more damage and then, after he handed the evidence over to whoever Pearce found who would listen to her, he would finish the sonuvabitch off.

It wouldn't help him get his life back; that was gone. Anson and Card had seen to that. But he didn't care about himself any more. His mother hated him, he had gotten his brother killed, and, because of Card, he had lost Fiona. But if he was honest with himself, he had been well on the way to getting her killed long before he even knew of his mentor's involvement. He had nearly got Sam killed, too... If it hadn't been for Aiden Malloy...

"_I need you to become the same unstoppable sonuvabitch I recruited all those years ago."_

He remembered Raines' words clearly as if his recruiter had said them only a day ago. That was the heart of the matter. He had never changed, not really, not deep down. He had just gotten smarter. He used that same relentless spirit he had used as a spy to try to get back in and later to take down Anson Fullerton.

He turned his head and caught his reflection in the small glass window. Staring out at the dark starless sky, he heard another voice whispering in his ear.

"_I know how you used to look at people who betrayed us, whose stupidity disappointed us... Come on, I know that look and you know how easy it would be." _The voice of another unstoppable sonuvabitch taunted him. _"By now the Michael I knew would have sliced a bloody swarth through the list of people coming after him. The Michael I knew would have left a trail of twisted broken bodies lying in his wake and the Michael I knew would have done it all with a smile on his face."_

_Could he be that man again? He had come close so many times before and without his friends to rein him in..._ _Without his family..._

_He had a sudden vision of the shock on Nate's face as he was thrown backwards, his body a bloody mess. "I'm scared..." were the last words his little brother uttered before he died._

"_I should have been protecting him from _you!_" His mother's hate filled eyes staring at him over the dining table... she wouldn't even hold his hand, her own son...her _only_ son now and she couldn't bring herself to forgive him._

Michael blinked away the moisture building in his eyes. He should have stayed away from all of them. Maybe none of this would have happened if he had hung up the first time she called and asked for his help.

And then the devil was back, whispering in his ear again. _"You're at a fork in the road and I know you, it's not a tough call... All you have to do is kill him."_

He felt the old fire build up. But instead of the having to reach back into his childhood and family life to fan the flames, all he had to do was think of Tom Card smiling at him, placing a hand on his arm and then speaking in a low voice. _"I'm proud of you, son." _

"_It's do or die time," his other mentor queried, "What's it gonna be?"_

**()()()()()()**

Sam Axe stared at the ceiling, all the noise up there had come to a stop. Somehow. the silence was even more unnerving. _What was she up to now?_

The silence was beginning to worry him. He knew Fiona was unhappy with the arrangement she had been forced into signing and there was a very big chance she would make a break for it. It was no good. He was going to have to go up there and convince her that this deal was the best chance for them all to get clear of the latest threat to their lives.

He glanced over to where Geary was clearing one side of the living room. While Fiona had been tearing her bedroom to pieces in search of Bly's surveillance equipment, the two men had had a long conversation and decided that while they were going to be stuck in the house they might as well make a start on the refurbishment. Having building supplies delivered to a house in the middle of a rebuild shouldn't raise any red flags anywhere, or at least that what he hoped the CSS agent would agree. Whatever else they might manage to do with the building supplies was another matter...

"You said to leave her alone," Geary commented.

"Yeah but that's sorta 'do as I say, not do as I do' advice. Tinkerbell is only ever this quiet when she's plotting to make something go boom."

At the top of the stairs, he paused. There was still no sounds so he went over and rapped his knuckles on the door. "Fi, Fiona, can I come in?"

He heard her footsteps and she flung the door open wide. "What do you want?" she demanded.

He noted the redness of her eyes, but decided it was probably best not to mention it. Instead he walked into the room noticing the destruction she had wrought.

"Mmmm, not quite my style... But I can see where you're going with it. Though Elsa had only just had those skirting boards fitted a coupla days ago."

"Tell her to bill the US government," she snapped and then pointed to the two smashed up pieces of electronics. "That camera was watching the bed, Sam. That bastard was goin' -"

"Hey, I know, I know...I'm not happy about it either. But if we destroy all their toys, Bly will just have us taken into custody and we'll spend the next god knows how many years rotting away in holding cells. You want that?"

She slumped down on the bed like a puppet with it's strings cut, all the fight going out of her.

"Fi, this is the best deal we're goin' to get. It's the best way to get Mike back. At least now we know he didn't kill Card in cold blood."

She looked up at him. "Would that have been such a bad thing? The bastard killed Nate. He tried to have us all killed."

"Yeah and if Mikey had dropped him, how long do you think it woulda been before we all got dropped into a deep dark hole... Believe me, sister, this is better."

"I don't trust Bly. The guy is a -"

"Yeah, he's a pain, but Bly has no time for the CIA playing fast and loose with the law either." Sam stopped her words. "We can trust him to go after Card."

"And Michael?"

"Bly needs Mike." Sam let out a long sigh, looked around and then reluctantly dropped down onto the bed next to her. "He's the only one who can straighten out this whole damn mess. We've gotta trust that when Bly makes contact, he'll do the right thing."

Fiona pursed her lips, her eyes searching Sam's face. She rarely mentioned her family to Michael, but there were things that she needed to do and only Sam could help her now.

"You know about the MI6 agent who wants to take me back to Ireland?"

Sam nodded, waiting to see where she was going with the sudden change in topic.

"He's out to cause mischief for my whole family. I have to call home and warn them. I need to get my hands on a phone. Oh and Bly can't know anything about this call."

"So ,what do you have in mind?"

She smiled at him, her eyes wide and mocking.

"Oh no. You're crazy, lady." He said as he realized what she intended.

"Don't worry Sam, I'm not asking you to do anything. I can lift a cell phone all by myself."

"And get caught." He glared at her and then with a sigh of resignation, he nodded affirmatively. "Fine, you do the distraction and I'll lift the phone. But can your call wait a day or so, when Bly's flunkies are more relaxed?"

**()()()()()()**

"Hey! Westen, wake up. We're gonna be landing soon."

"Wha'?" Michael opened one eye and winced as pain shot through his head.

"You've drunk and slept the whole flight, now wake up. We're not carrying you off." The agent didn't bother to hide his disgust.

Michael couldn't bring himself to care. He had a raging headache and a stomach doing flips. He pushed himself up straight in his seat and combed his fingers through his hair. The whirr of the landing gear coming down told him he wasn't going to be given the time to tidy himself up.

As soon as the plane came to a stop, one of Card's men got up and stood by the spy's chair, blocking his exit while his partner ushered Pandit down the steps and away in a dark colored town car with blacked out windows.

"Your turn, Westen. Chief Card is waiting to see you."

There was nothing to be done at the moment. He was going to have to gain the operations chief's confidence. As well as helping him sleep, even though it hadn't driven away his demons, drinking heavily was a good start in making Tom Card feel he had won the battle for his protégé's soul.

Michael shaded his eyes as he walked down the steps and into the hangar. He instantly found himself surrounded by four more agents and resisted the urge to laugh. Card obviously still saw him as a threat. _I don't want to run, _he kept the thought to himself as he climbed into the back of a four door sedan with blacked out windows. _I want to get close._

"So where are we off to?" he asked, trying to peer around the agent sitting on his left.

"It's not too far. Here have some water. Clear your head." The agent sitting on his right pushed him back into the seat and offered him a bottled water.

Michael looked the man up and down, the reassuring friendly smile didn't fool him one bit. He looked down at the water, remembering another time when he had been handed water spiked with something nasty.

He felt the barrel of a gun dig into his side. "Drink up, Westen... _It _won't kill you."

Michael paused. He really had no choice in the matter. Licking his lips, he glanced at the two men sitting on either side of him and then took a large swallow of the sparkling spring water.

_If Card wanted him dead, he could have had him thrown out of the plane into the ocean and nobody would have known anything about his demise. _His head began to spin and his vision darken._ This was another of his former training officer's mind games._

He felt the bottle of water being removed from his hands, as the whispering taunts of an old friend came back.

_You're bottling up all your darkness, all your rage, all the good stuff which makes you who you are. That sonuvabitch gave the order to kill your brother. He deserves to die! Can you tell me any different?_

A smile started to form on Michael's lips as he finally lost consciousness.

"_Not this time, Lare. Not this time."_


	22. The Art of Storytelling

**AIDEN. **

**A/N: As always I first want to say thank you to everybody who is still reading this story, and those of you who take the time to review or send me PMs. I really do appreciate your comments and feedback. Thanks go out too to Amanda Hawthorn and Jedi Skysinger who have found time to read thru for me. And extra thanks to Jedi Skysinger who has found time to BETA this chapter, Sorry I hadn't realized how long this one had got.  
**

**Chapter Twenty Two.**

**The art of storytelling.**

Michael Westen woke up with a thumping nausea inducing headache and a strong urge to vomit. He lurched off the hard narrow cot he had been sleeping on and just managed to crawl the short distance to the steel toilet bowl in time as his stomach went into full rebellion.

After emptying the remnants of alcohol and drugged sparkling water from his system, he staggered to his feet and washed his mouth out straight from the tap.

It was only then that he took a long look at his new accommodation: a standard CIA eight by eight foot holding cell. Apart from the bed with a single pillow, sheet and one blanket, the only other pieces of furniture were a desk and a chair.

Looking down at himself, he realized he was in the same clothes he had been wearing on the flight back from Mumbai. The only things missing were his boots and pants belt. With a sigh of resignation, he dropped down onto the bed and fell back with his head on the thin lumpy pillow. He knew what this was; it was all part of the same game as ordering him take a drugged drink. This was Tom Card's way of reminding him who was in charge and running things.

He had known all along there would be consequences for not running the mission exactly as ordered and his former training officer would also be furious him with for cutting Jesse Porter and Dani Pearce loose. He just had to hope the pair was managing to stay one step ahead of the teams he was sure Tom Card had sent after them.

Staring up at the ceiling, he forced his body to relax and did his best to empty his mind. He knew this game all too well. Card was giving him a time out, time to think about what would happen to him if he ever pulled a similar stunt again. Isolation and boredom two of his greatest enemies, all he had was time, time to think about what he could have done differently, to worry about what was happening to his friends and to wonder how much Sam and Fiona hated him about now.

"_Did anyone ever tell ya whot a bastid ya are, McBride?"_

He blinked and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"_You can't come with me, Fi. This one I have to do on my own."_

He'd spoken those words to her so many times; it was a goodbye of sorts. But this time, just like back in Ireland, there had been no goodbye, just silently sneaking away while she slept. _Because he was the bastard she said he was and saying goodbye hurt too much._

He bit down on his bottom lip and flung an arm over his face. There was a surveillance camera on the wall above the door and there was no way he was going to let Card see how close he was to breaking.

Exhaustion from running on empty for so long, added to the after effects of too much alcohol and the sedative in the water, all conspired to send the weary spy into a deep sleep.

A soft moan escaped from between his lips and the arm that had hid his face from the watching camera dropped down onto his chest, exposing his features twisting into a mask of pain. Deep inside his mind, Fiona Glenanne's soft Irish brogue taunted him with memories of the past, both distant and recent.

"_D'ya remember tha first time ya stayed at me Mammy's house, Michael?" she whispered, as she lifted her vest top over her head._

They were in Panama, in the derelict house. Sam was in the room next to theirs and downstairs Jesse was on guard duty while Pressman was working on finding Tyler Grey's whereabouts. Every sound made echoed loudly throughout that large empty building, every word above a whisper, every combat booted step and every creaking bed spring from an old rusted bed frame.

Yet mingled with Panama was his first meeting with the Matriarch of the Glenanne family, her suspicious, disapproving stare and her words to him informing him in great detail of what she would do to him if he was caught outside the guest bedroom before the call to breakfast the following morning. Of when Fiona had crept into his room, wearing nothing under her dressing gown but a smile. Of his heart beat wildly in his chest and his brain was screaming at him: _"This girl is going to screw my assignment all to hell, but what the hell."_

"Fi," he had protested, in both timelines for two very different reasons. "We can't, Fi." Her hands were already walking over his body. "You're too tense, Michael. This will be good for both of us," had been her answer both times.

He dreamed of the touch of her hands over his body, stroking, massaging, her nails scraping down his back, and over his shoulders, her lips and mouth consuming him and the feeling of peace which settled over his heart and soul that only came when he lay with her.

"_See? I knew ya could keep quiet if yar life depended on it."_

He woke with a start. The dream had left him reeling. Until this moment he hadn't realized how much Fiona completed him. This was far worse than when he had left her in Ireland. Then it had been because he was given no choice; this time he had nobody to blame but himself.

To distract his thoughts away from what he had thrown away in his quest for revenge, he looked around his cell again, sensing something had changed, and there it was. He'd had a visitor while he slept.

By the door, he spotted a tray on the floor holding two cellophane wrapped sandwiches and a large bottle of water. After scrubbing his fingers through his hair, Michael sat up and put his feet on the floor and then slowly got up to retrieve his meal. As he ate, he worked on pushing away the memories of that night in Panama and the promise he had made the following morning.

He blinked away the moisture building in his eyes. He had meant every word he had said to her that morning. He remembered exactly what they were doing. It had been the first time he had made a promise he'd had every intention of keeping. Right up to the moment he had discovered his one-time friend and mentor was the man who had not only got Nate killed, but had tried to assassinate them all to cover up his crimes.

He dropped the remains of his sandwich down onto the tray. He couldn't let this continue. If he kept letting his thoughts circle around what he had lost, he would end up climbing the walls. He had no idea how long Card would keep him locked up. He couldn't afford to let it get to him.

Going over to the sink, he washed up as best he could in the small sink with the limited supplies he had been left. He grimaced in disgust when he realized what wasn't there: no comb, razor or toothbrush and paste.

He comforted himself with the thought that he had been through this before. He also knew this was just Tom Card's way of reminding him who was in charge. He just had to be patient. If he was going to get through this, he needed to find a way to keep himself busy and not let his thoughts dwell on the past.

**()()()()()**

"Yeeooww!" Sam rubbed his arm and threw an accusing look at the Irish pixie who was glaring at him with anger in her narrowed eyes. "What the hell, Fi?" At least she had punched his good arm, but even so her hard bony knuckles were going to leave a bruise.

"Five days, Sam, it's been five days since you said you'd help me get -" She lowered her voice. "_Help me getta message to my family." _Somewhere out there a British spy was pushing for her extradition back to the UK. Her whole family back home in Ireland were in danger and she couldn't warn them _because she was stuck under house arrest!_

"Do you see these guys relaxing and gettin' comfortable around us? Cuz I gotta tell ya, sister, all I see is them watchin' our every move. Bly musta given them one hell of a pep talk."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" Fiona snapped back. It was true, though they were left alone to do whatever they wanted as long as they stayed inside the house, the CSS agents guarding them never came close unless they were in pairs. Getting hold of a phone had been impossible.

"Look, why not just ask Bly to let you make the call? I mean, he's not interested in what goes on thousands of miles away in Ireland."

"I'm not giving that bastard any more leverage than he already has, Sam." She turned away, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. It wasn't only her family. She knew the longer she stayed under the close scrutiny of Bly and his men, the more likely they were going to notice the changes taking place within her body.

She was barely eating, the stress of the last few weeks and she guessed her rampaging hormones had caused her appetite to disappear yet she had already noticed a slight increase in her weight. It was nothing much, just every piece of clothing she had with her was a little bit tighter than it was before. But how long before she was going to have to ask Bly to supply her with new clothing?

"Okay." Sam gave a resigned sigh and turned to where Elsa's security guard stood nearby keeping watch. "We'll have to split the guards up and we're gonna have to come up with a distraction." He turned back to Fiona. "You realize stealing a phone is gonna do away with any trust we've built up with these guys?"

"I have to make the call, Sam. That MI-6 agent could be already targeting my family."

"I get it. I don't like it, but I get it..." He paused and nodded towards the window. "Oh, looky who just showed up."

Turning, Fiona glanced out of the window in time to see Bly getting out of his car and walk towards the door.

"Great, more time wasted while we answer his questions." She sent Sam an accusing glare.

The daily question and answer session with the Jason Bly was something else she hated. Each day he turned up with more folders and a mass of questions. The only thing that kept her cooperative was that the more folders he brought in and the more questions he asked, the more she began to believe he was focusing on Tom Card's misdeeds rather than on what Michael had been doing over the years.

However, she still had nightmares about the autopsy report and the photograph of an unrecognizable charred corpse he had shown her when she first handed herself into the FBI nearly a year ago. If it hadn't been for a couple of mistakes in the coroner's report, which had led to her studying the burnt out vehicle more closely... She blinked slowly, doing her best to regain her calm as Bly walked through the door. She had come close to believing the lying sonuvabitch once before, she wasn't going to fall for his tricks again.

"Ah, there you all are." Jason Bly beamed. "Mr. Geary, if _you_ would like to get your bags packed, I've arranged for you to be relocated to a position at Ms. Dearbon's Las Vegas Chadwick hotel and casino. You'll be leaving in thirty minutes."

The CSS agent paused and looked at the faces of the three people staring back at him. "You're free to leave Mr. Geary, honestly. But it will be safer for you if you get out of Florida for a while _and_ Ms. Dearbon has been good enough to find you a job working security in Las Vegas."

David Geary nodded. He wasn't clear about what was going on, but it appeared that he was keeping his job and wasn't going to be charged as an accessory to federal crimes. So he headed out of the room to collect his few belongings with a slight grin on his face.

"What's going on, Bly?" Sam asked as the agent gestured for them to sit down.

"Westen has been seen inside a CIA facility near Opa Locka. I have a contact who has informed me he was brought in five days ago and is being kept in a holding cell, though he isn't officially in custody."

Fiona sprung to her feet. "We have to get him out of there."

"Sit down, Ms. Glenanne." Bly's good humor faded. "Neither of you are going anywhere near a CIA facility run by Tom Card."

She glared at him, wanting nothing more than to rush out of the door and jump into one of the cars on the driveway.

"Fi," Sam spoke quietly. "We can't take on the whole CIA. At least we now know where Mike is. What about Jesse?" This last part was aimed at the CSS agent.

"From the reports I've received, Westen was brought in on his own."

Fiona and Sam exchanged worried glances.

"Can't you –?" Fiona began to ask, but Bly was already shaking his head.

"Card doesn't know about my investigation and he isn't going to find out until I have a solid case and I'm ready to place him in handcuffs. Now, from what I've found out, Westen is being held incommunicado while Card is trying hunt down the rest of you. What I need from the two of you is a way I can reach out to Westen if he ever gets out of Card's holding cell?"

Neither Sam nor Fiona answered. Instead they stared back at him their faces set with blank expressions.

"Look, I know you must have ways of getting back in contact in case of emergencies, fall back positions, safe-houses, dead drops." He pursed his lips, looking for a way to get through to them. "It's up to you, of course. But without Michael, your deal is going to fall through. My boss wants this case cleared up as quickly as possible. If he orders me to pull the plug and turn you both loose, how long do you think Card will let you live? He will use you as leverage to keep Michael in line or, if that's too much trouble, he'll see you both rot away in prison for the rest of your lives. Either way, you will not be helping Michael get out of the mess he is in."

"And what happens to Michael, while you're gathering all this evidence? We should be finding a way to get him out of Cards hands not leaving _him there_ to rot." Fiona was back on her feet, pacing in front of the couch. This was what she hated about working with government drones. They only knew how to follow procedures, and play it safe instead of acting.

"One thing I've learnt over the years, Ms. Glenanne, is that Michael is capable of looking after himself. Now, how about helping yourselves and telling me what I need to know?"

Fiona stopped her pacing and her eyes narrowed. If looks could kill, Bly would have been six feet underground.

"Fine," she growled and turned to stalk out of the room.

"Oh, Ms. Glenanne, before you storm off, you should know the extradition request has been withdrawn. My boss looked in to the matter and has spoken to his opposite number in London. It turns out the agent who wants your head served up on a platter has been recalled back to the UK. He isn't going to be a problem for you anymore."

She came to a halt, her hand resting on the door handle. The words stuck in her throat, but after a moment she turned back to Bly, the anger and dislike gone at least for now.

"Thank you," she managed to murmur and then she was gone.

Sam grinned. It was the first bit of good news they had had. "If Mike comes into Miami, you could try leaving a red cross on the side of the bus stop benches near the Federal Courthouse and around by the Bicentennial Park. It's a signal we use to arrange to meet up if we've had to separate for some reason." It stuck in Sam's throat giving up one of their codes, but he also knew it was the only way they were going to be able to reach out to his friend. "It means to be at the Pub One on the corner of North East 2nd Avenue and North East 1st Street at four o'clock... Bly, you should let us go with you. If he sees you instead of me or Fi, he might bolt."

"No." The CSS agent shook his head "I told you once, you both stay here."

"You need us, _if_ you're serious about getting Mikey to work with you."

"Card has people out looking for both of you," Bly stated, as if explaining something to a toddler. "Michael will have to take my word. I'm not letting the three of you get together."

"_You_ have to trust _us_, Bly. Last time we saw Mike, he was jittery as all hell. He sees you at our meeting spot..."

"I'll take my chances, Sam." The CSS agent grinned and then he reached down and picked up the first of the ten folders he had brought with him for the morning debrief. "Now I'd like _you_ to tell _me_ everything you know about Mr. Jack Vale, CEO of the Pyron Corporation, and how he ended up shot to death in front of you and Westen?"

**()()()()()**

For Michael, the days following his arrival in solitary confinement dragged slowly. He would wake up, eat whatever food had been delivered to his room by one of the silent watchful guards, have a wash and then he would exercise until he was tired enough to fall into a dreamless sleep. Push ups, sit ups, squats and lunges followed by all the basic karate moves he could manage to perform in the small cell. Anything that would stop him thinking and worrying about what his friends were getting up to.

And as he worked his body to exhaustion, he began to make his own plans and build strategies. Card had trained him, they had worked closely together. Card also had access to all his work history and psyche reports. If he was to beat the man, he had to find a way to throw him off balance. He couldn't be the man the US Army and the CIA trained. He was going to have to dig deep and become somebody else.

However, it didn't matter how hard he worked his body or whatever device he used to keep his mind occupied during his waking hours. Each night, he was tormented by dreams filled with all that he had lost.

**()**

He had been locked up for eight days with no communication, little food and only his own tortured thoughts for company when the cell door swung open with a bang.

"Michael." Operations Chief Card stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him. He walked around the room. "I've been receiving some troubling reports about you." Card stopped in front of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Well, maybe, if I had something more productive to do with my time, Tom." Michael snipped back as he sat up and put his feet onto the floor.

"And that attitude won't get you out of here any quicker." Card held out the suit bag he had brought in with him. "But luckily for you, I need you. So, go with the two men waiting outside and get cleaned up and dressed, then I'll fill you in."

"A job?" He couldn't help the eagerness he felt at the thought of getting out of his prison cell. He had been doing nothing but thinking about Fiona and wondering if she and Sam and Jesse were all safe.

"A job," his former training officer agreed. "Now, go get cleaned up, Michael. You stink."

He wasted no time, taking the suit from his one-time mentor and going out through the door of his cell and following the two men waiting for him. He was left alone in a large locker room. Inside the shower area, he found a container of body wash, shampoo, a safety razor and shaving foam and best of all a toothbrush, paste and a minty fresh mouth wash.

He took his time cleaning himself up, preparing himself to start the job of bringing Tom Card down. After a long shower, and a shave, he checked out the clothes in the plastic suit bag. He frowned and pursed his lips when he realized Card had been to the loft. Fiona would be furious if she found out the CIA had gone through all their things.

Finally, one of the guards came back into the room, glaring across to where Michael stood slipping on his black suit jacket and straightening the light blue tie he now wore.

"You've had long enough, Westen. Chief Card is waiting in his office."

With one final look in the mirror, Michael flashed the guard a toothy smile and strode confidently after him along the hallway until they reached the Operations Chief's private office.

()

"That's a lot better," Card beamed from behind his desk as his star pupil entered into his domain. He pointed to where a small table had been laid out for lunch. "Eat something while we talk."

It should have frightened Michael how quickly he fell back into following Card's orders, but after nearly two weeks of being cooped up, he was willing to do whatever was necessary to stay out of that cell.

As he picked through the meal Card had arranged for him, he listened to his former mentor's words.

"I have something for you. It'll help me get over you cutting Porter and Pearce loose." Card paused. "It's another collection and delivery job. I'll tell you all about it and then you can go through the details with your new handler."

"_New handler?_ I told you, I won't be your mercenary, Tom. I'll work for _you,_ but as a partner not as a puppet. I'm _sick_ of other people pulling my strings," Michael answered quickly. He needed to be close to Card if he was to stand any chance of bringing him down. But if Card was thinking of putting layers between them, it meant he would never gain any useful intelligence.

"In time, Michael, I promise in time. Let's build up a little trust first," Card returned smoothly.

"_Trust?_ You got my brother -" Michael bit off his words, gained control and then spoke again. "_Fine_. But after this job, you'll read me in?"

Card's face broke into a self-satisfied smile. "Lose the attitude and, after you do this job, _if _I get a satisfactory report back, then we'll _talk_ about it."

Michael scowled and the dark part of him that somehow always spoke with Larry Sizemore's voice whispered into his ear, pointing out how easy it would be to snap Tom Card's neck and then take his chances on getting out in one piece.

"The job is simple, Westen. There is a Mexican national called Rafael Montero being held nearby. He has a meeting with the US Marshals at the federal building tomorrow at 13:00 hours. I want _you_ to work out a way for him to miss that hearing and instead make it on to a boat waiting for him at Cutler Bay."

"Montero? Isn't that the Cartel guy you sent me after?" Michael didn't like the way the conversation was going. _Had Card been using him from the start?_

"Yes and Mr. Montero has been very cooperative. The information he's shared with the CIA has helped to close down three of the Zeyes cartels cocaine manufacturing sites in Vera Cruz. He's now waiting to be delivered into the hands of the federal witness protection service. _Unfortunately_ for Mr. Montero, I need him to go back to Mexico as part of a deal I've made with the cartel." The older man smirked as Michael raised his eyebrows in shock.

"You're handing a witness over to the cartel? He'll be lucky if all they do is kill him. How does that help anybody? He can be—"

"Let me put it in a way you'll understand, Michael." Card was now standing over him, reminding Michael of long ago lectures on spycraft. The Operations Chief continued to give his former student the bad news. "There are photographs lying in a CIA evidence box showing former CIFA officer Jesse Porter at Rafeal Montero's side when DEA Agent Kemp was killed and his body thrown out of a window. With Montero out of the country, there will no need for anybody to go hunting through the evidence in that particular box. Do you see where I'm going here, Michael?"

Even before Card finished speaking, Michael was on his feet, the chair he had been sitting on skidding backwards and then tumbling over, as he violently slammed his former training officer up against the wall, his fingers grabbing hold of the older man's jacket lapels. "_You_ sent Jesse in there. That agent was the traitor..."

"Let go of me, Michael." Card refused to be cowed and slowly the younger man backed down. "Good boy... Mr. Montero's return to the cartel is a goodwill gesture on my part after their loss of three valuable processing centers."

Michael was sickened by the thought that a man he'd held in such high regard was making side deals with a cartel. He looked down at the table, his eyes straying to where Card was casually throwing down several photographs showing Jesse going into Agent Kemp's home with Rafael Montero and his bodyguards. Another one of them caught him stood next to Montero in the upstairs window with the DEA Agent's body tumbling to the ground below and lastly one of Jesse holding an automatic weapon and emptying into what looked like a DEA tactical van.

"So, you agree it's in the best interests of Mr. Porter if Senor Montero goes back home." Card barred his teeth in a confident grin.

Shifting through the photographs, Michael nodded his agreement, accepting the inevitable. Montero would be killed. In return, Card would get to make his deal with the Zeyes Cartel and he would get his chance to show his former training officer he was trustworthy.

"Excellent." Card straightened up his jacket and ran his hands over his hair. "Let's go and meet your new boss."

**()**

It was a short walk along a narrow corridor accompanied by the two agents who had previously escorted him to the shower. Following Card into an interrogation room, Michael found himself facing a dark skinned woman dressed in a charcoal suit with a white shirt and her hair pulled into a slick pony tail.

"Michael Westen. Meet Olivia Riley. She's your contact until I say otherwise." With that, Card left the two alone.

His head was reeling at the depths Card had fallen to and the caliber of the agents he was taking with him. Michael knew who Olivia Riley was and was trying to come to terms with her being another traitor. She was at the top of the counter intelligence game, one of the most highly regarded players in the Agency. He had two of her books at home in the loft and had read both of them more than once. She smiled at him full of bravado; this was a woman who knew _exactly_ how good she was.

"Michael Westen, I've heard a lot of good things about you." She held out her hand, her grip strong and business like.

She handed him a thick file and gestured for him to sit down at the only table in the room.

"You'll be in charge of Montero's escort to the Federal Building. Here's the details of the time and route you and your target are going to take. You need to come up with something that we can sell to the authorities to make it look like you were escorting Montero to the Federal Building when you were ambushed... You know the sort of thing... I'll give you an hour to come up with something."

"An hour? I-" He dropped into the chair and opened the file.

"Chief Card has informed me you do your best work under pressure, Westen." She flashed her teeth in broad smile.

"Where will he be going to?" He glanced down at the stack of maps before him.

"You don't need to know that." She scoffed. "Just do your job if you want to stop your friends from being the prime suspects in an international manhunt."

"I need to know if the guy has to be in good condition when we deliver him. Where -" He stopped when she held up a hand.

"We're handing him back to his boss. I don't think they'll be worried about a few knocks and bumps."

Michael bit down on his lip, not liking the job at all now that Riley had just confirmed she was in as deep as the Operations Chief. Montero would be killed, which wasn't the problem as the man was a ruthless killer himself. But Card and now Riley getting into bed with a Mexican drug cartel was a very big problem as far as he was concerned. _He was going to need to document this, make recordings... This could be enough to show the CIA that Card wasn't the hero everybody thought he was._

She was back exactly an hour later.

Leaning over his shoulder to see what he had come up with, she inquired, "So, hotshot, what have you come up with?"

**The following day.**

_Staging a scene is one of the most important deception tactics in espionage. You're telling a story – arranging the evidence for someone to discover so they will believe what you want them to believe. If it works, there's nothing like it._

Early on the morning of his first assignment as one of Tom Card's errand boys, Michael was informed the Federal Marshal's office had received intelligence that the Zeyes Cartel were eager to get their hands on their former sicario, Rafael Montero. With this in mind, the CIA officer coordinating the handover made the decision to tighten up his security measures. So, while Michael and two other agents were still going to escort Senor Montero to the federal courthouse, as previously agreed, now three decoy vehicles were going to leave at the same time, all taking different routes into Miami.

Michael sat on the roomy back seat of a large SUV with bullet proof panels and blacked out windows doing his best to hide the nervous anticipation which rolled over him at the start of any new assignment. Beside him, Montero sat fidgeting, the skinny, highly strung Mexican was constantly in motion, twitching and shuffling his feet as he tried to peer out of the blacken window.

Finally, the driver put the vehicle into drive and they left the secret CIA holding facility hidden away near Opa Locka Airport under the guise of being a document storage building.

"How long is this going to take, man?" The former sicario asked, obviously nervous about being out in the open.

"Not long... All your troubles will be over soon, Rafael," Michael soothed the man.

Instead of turning onto Langley Road, which would have taken them straight to the I-95, they crossed over the highway and drove onto a narrow back road. When the SUV began to bounce and sway on the uneven surface, Michael leaned over and casually secured a seat belt around the prisoner.

"Will you sit still now? Or do I have to put these on?" He waved a set of handcuffs in Montero's face. Glancing forward, he saw the agent sat in the front passenger seat grinning back at him in the rear view mirror.

The vehicle took a sweeping corner where the road was lined by trees on either side, and Michael surreptitiously drew his own seatbelt across his lap and over his chest, giving it a sharp tug to lock it in place.

The loud deafening boom was secondary to the jolt as the SUV suddenly went skyward, before crashing down back to earth, landing precariously on it's left hand tires until it teetered and ended up on it's side. The two CIA agents in the front were stunned by the explosion and subsequent crash. Without the benefit of seatbelts, they had been tossed about in their seats only saved by the airbags, which had helped to cushion their bodies from the glass and twisted metal.

In the back, Michael released his seatbelt and that of Montero. But before either of them could find a way out of the vehicle, a door opened and hands reached inside, pulling them both out. Montero, with a gun barrel pressed tightly against his head, could only watch as his last line of defense took a beating from the two masked men trying to restrain him. Finally, Michael Westen went down with a blow to the head by the stock of an assault rifle.

The two CIA agents in the front of the SUV crawled out just in time to see one of their own being thrown into the back of a black panel van in handcuffs.

_It's unfortunate, but true, that no make-up can simulate blood and bruises well enough to stand up to close observation. So, if getting beaten up helps to sell your cover, you do what's necessary to get the job done and nothing conveys your innocence like a busted up face and a few cracked ribs._

The assault had taken mere seconds and it wasn't long before the black van was off the back roads and onto the North West 135th heading towards the I-95. As the vehicle picked up speed, the only sound in the back was the harsh rapid breaths of Rafael Montero as he realized he was now in the hands of his former friends. With a thick black bag over his head, he couldn't see what had happened to the CIA agent who had fought back so valiantly against the cartel mercenaries who had captured them.

They hadn't been traveling very long when Montero heard muffled shouting and the sounds of another fight. He flinched and tried to call out as something heavy landed on top of him and then he felt hands dragging him up onto his feet and the black bag being pulled from his head. He stared in relief at the bloody and beaten sight of the CIA agent.

"Hey, you with me? We've gotta get out of here." Michael pointed to the two moaning men dressed in black with masks hiding their features. "They'll wake up soon. C'mon…"

"Who are you? What happened? Where are we going?" Montero jabbered as he tried to keep up with the agent.

"I'm Michael Westen." Michael tried to smile but his split lip and broken cheekbone made the movement too painful. "It looks like there's a leak in the CIA. I'm gonna to get you to safety." He looked about, checking out their surroundings. "Okay, that's Miami Dade College, North Campus, behind us. We'll get a car from there and I'll take you somewhere safe."

"You should call your boss. Tell him what's happened." Montero crouched down while casting fearful glances back at the black van.

"_No__!_ Didn't you hear me? I think there's _a leak_. They knew _exactly_ where to hit us. We're better off on our own." Michael urged the other man to follow him over to the campus parking lot.

He moved amongst the vehicles until he found just what he was looking for: an older model beige compact which the owner had failed to alarm. Breaking in was easy, as was starting up the car. With a quick twist of a few wires under the steering column, Michael had the car running and they were away.

"Hey, it might be best if you kept your head down. You know, lie down on the back seat and stay outta sight until we reach a safe house."

With his willing prisoner curled up out of sight on the back seat, Michael drove leisurely away from the college and over onto the I-95. He had no need to look for a tail. He already knew Olivia Riley was following him from a distance. He also knew that the search for the kidnapped prisoner and CIA agent was being directed in the opposite direction to where they were traveling by another of Tom Card's lackeys working in the communication office.

_When your plan goes right, and you have the bad guy willingly place his life in your hands, there's no feeling like it in the world. You just have to make sure you keep up the performance until the job is done._

When he slowed down to leave the interstate, Michael caught sight of Montero peeking up to glance out of the window before relaxing back down as the he recognized they were heading towards the federal courthouse.

"So what's the plan here, man?" Montero whined. "I mean, if you can't trust your own guys, what're we gonna do?"

"I'm going to call the Marshals and make arrangements with them to meet us some place else." Michael pulled his cell from his pocket and dialed a number.

Speaking into the dial tone, he made sure the "Marshal" on the other end of the call knew the dire circumstances they were in and asked for a safe location to make the hand over as the courthouse was now compromised. He nodded his head vigorously and when he put his cell phone away, he gave Montero a reassuring smile.

"They have a place for us out near Cutler Bay... We'll head there now. Lie back down, the cartel guys hunting you know what you look like. Let's not give them a target."

"How about taking the hand cuffs off, man? I mean I'm not going to run away from the only guy who can get me outta here." The prisoner held his hands out, but Michael was already back to concentrating on the road.

Pretty soon, Montero would be getting his comeuppance and he would be one step closer to getting Card to trust him. Then, along with the recording Jesse had made when he had burst into his former mentor's hotel room, the proof of Card's involvement with a cartel should be enough to discredit the Operations Chief.

Turning off North Miami Avenue, Michael drove along North East 3rd Street as he made his way back towards the I-95. It was just after he drove beneath the underpass that he suddenly did a double take as he spotted a large red X painted onto the concrete support on a bus stop bench.

A little further along the street, there was another mark on the next bench. He sucked in a breath and winced as his freshly bruised ribs complained. He had no idea how long the signal for an urgent meeting had been there. He glanced down at his watch and then picked up speed. If everything went on schedule, he could possibly make the meeting spot today, as long as Riley didn't tail him all the way to the drop off point. As he drove, his mind was filled with guilt that his friends had needed him and he hadn't been there for them. In trying to save them, had he left them vulnerable to another unseen enemy?

So wrapped up in thoughts of what might have happened while he was off seeking vengeance for Nate, Michael drove onto the interstate as if on auto-pilot. It was only when, half an hour later, as he pulled off the South Dixie Highway and moved onto suburban streets that he managed forced his attention back onto the job in hand. Glancing in his rear view mirror, he took in the sight of his traveling companion still suitably cowed, keeping his head down and behaving himself, before checking out the view of road behind him.

This was where Riley was supposed to peel away and return to Miami to make sure the hunt for the missing CIA agent and prisoner was kept as far away from Cutler Bay as possible. Michael was hoping the task of coordinating a multi-agency manhunt was going to keep everybody busy enough for him to take the risk of calling in to the emergency meeting spot during the agreed time.

Pursing his lips, he looked down at his watch. It was nearly two o clock and, up ahead, he saw the double security gates and the long driveway leading to the Zeyes Cartel's private dock and waiting yacht. If things went smoothly, he would have time to find out if his friends were safe. With that thought in mind, he picked up speed.

At the sound of the gates opening and closing, Montero sat up hesitatingly looking around, as Michael drove at speed along the driveway leading to a magnificent mansion house standing next to the water.

Using the mirror, Michael watched warily as Montero stared at the house. "Whose place is this?" the sicario asked as he began to straighten his clothes as best he could while handcuffed.

"It's a drug lord's mansion," Michael answered. "It's going up for auction in a coupla of weeks. That's why we get to use it." He grinned and pulled up outside the wide solid wooden front door. "They must be waiting inside."

He let Montero walk in front of him, reaching round the smaller man to open the door for him. As soon as they both stepped through the door, Montero froze to the spot at the sight of his former boss and ten of his former comrades.

"It's a trap! Madre de Dios! Get me out of here!" He tried to turn and run, but the CIA agent was blocking his escape, and, before he could get round him, a bag was drop over his head and he was carried struggling out of room.

Michael stared warily at the cartel members facing him. He was outgunned and definitely outnumbered. If this was Card's version of a 9mm retirement party, Michael knew he was a dead man.

"Senor," Ramiro Salazar smiled grimly. "Thank your boss for this show of friendship. We are grateful for the return of our employee."

Michael swallowed thickly, plastered a wide confident smile on his face and backed up to the door. "I'll be sure to tell him." He reached behind and opened the door. "You were told the rest of the deal?"

"Si... It is to look like you escaped, but unfortunately you were unable to rescue the traitor Montero." Salazar wheezed and took a deep breath, holding the oxygen mask up to his face. "Adios, Mister C.I.A."

Michael turned and bolted as Salazar's men opened fire, their bullets whizzing by him. He made it to a conveniently parked pickup truck and turned the keys thoughtfully left in the ignition. Driving away as fast as the truck could go. Michael didn't stop when he reached the security gates. Instead he smashed through them and started driving north.

A quick glance at his watch told him he didn't have a lot of time left to make it to the meeting place at the allotted time. Frowning, he knew he was going to have to make some changes to his appearance if he wanted to avoid being picked up as soon as he reached the city. With the kidnapping of a high profile prisoner and a CIA officer, every law enforcement agency would be out searching for him.

For a short while he was going to have to lose the blood stained and rumpled suit he was wearing. With that in mind as soon as he spotted the Dade County Public Works depot, he pulled off the road and went searching for a disguise.

A quick look showed him the depot was deserted. So, moving fast, he ran the short distance to the first of the storage units and, after making sure there was no witnesses, he busted the lock and disappeared inside. When he stepped back out a few minutes later, he was dressed in the plain grey uniform of a public works employee and held the keys to the one of the trucks parked up in the lot behind the building.

**()**

Pub One was a local dive bar that had long glass windows, covered by horizontal blinds and a large square bar set in the middle of the room, which was lined with plenty of stools, for those who wanted to sit and drink while watching the oversized TV screen showing the latest sports programs.

The tables at the back of the establishment gave a great view of anybody coming in through the door and the usual crowds of regulars and tourists meant there was plenty of cover, because it was a well-established fact nobody but a crazy person would risk starting a fight with so many witnesses.

When Michael arrived at half past three, the place had only been open for half an hour, but most of the bar stools were already taken up. In front of the large windows at the front of the bar, two men dressed in work garb played pool and a group of what look liked tourists were gathered around the juke box.

Choosing one of the few remaining seats at the bar, which would give him a good view of any new arrivals, Michael ordered large scotch and settled down to wait. The alcohol burnt the cut on his lip and he raised a hand to gently probe the area before moving on to check out knot on the back of his skull from the beating he had taken earlier.

The two agents who had accompanied him in the vehicle with Montero hadn't been in on the extraction. They were, as far as Michael was aware, decent hard working CIA personnel and right now they would be selling the picture he had painted for them. The fight and the injuries he had received were the final props in that story.

Staring down at the near empty glass in his hand, he glanced at his watch. It was four o clock. _Where were they?_

He fought against the rush of fear that he was too late, they had needed him and he had failed them both. _Just like he failed Nate and, more recently, Carson Halliday..._

He shifted uncomfortable on the bar stool. He missed Fiona Gleananne more than he cared to admit and the thought that he hadn't been there when she needed him the most was killing him. _One of them should have arrived by now. They both couldn't be …..._

He would not let his thoughts go there. Quickly finishing the first drink, he ordered a second. He needed something to keep him from flying apart and the alcohol seemed to at least numb his mixed up emotions. _He would wait until he finished this drink. He could give them that long._

Just as he lifted the glass to his lips, a familiar figure walked through the door and instinctively Michael ducked his head down to hide his features. _Jason Bly, what the hell was he doing here and now? _Michael kept watch, his fears for his friends growing as the CSS agent took a seat at the table where Sam, Fiona and Jesse should have been sitting.

Cautiously, he got off his stool and made his way through the growing crowd, his eyes skimming over the men and women beginning to fill the bar in time for "Happy Hour" as he tried to work out if the CSS agent really was alone.

"Michael Westen, take a seat." Bly kicked the chair opposite him out from under the table.

For a moment, Michael hesitated. The other man was too damned relaxed, too sure of himself. The spy sensed a trap, but he just couldn't see what it was... Taking one last wary look around the bar, he wearily lowered himself down onto the hard wooden chair.

"It's okay, I just want to talk," the counter intelligent agent added. As he stared at Michael's bruised and battered features. It was possible to see the cogs turning in his brain. "You look - tired… bad day at the office? I have to say, I prefer the suits to your new uniform….Mr. Souza?"

Michael glanced down at the tag sewn on his borrowed shirt and then sighed. "It's been a long coupla weeks," he agreed. "Why are you here? And where are Fi and Sam?"

"They are both being well looked after," came the business like reply. "But before we speak about _them_, I'm here to talk about how _we_ can help each other. I have a deal for _you_ _and_ _your_ _friends_."

Instantly, Michael felt his anger rising. It was all he could do not to fly over the table and choke the CSS agent. He watched as the other man paled. _He was right, this was a trap! The bastard was using his friends as leverage. Just like Anson Fullerton had and just like Tom Card was attempting to do now._

"Calm down, Michael. Let me explain. I've been tasked with investigating Tom Card and, from what I have found out so far, I know he's no White Knight and I know he was or is still targeting you."

"_You're_ going after Card?" Michael didn't bother to hide his disbelief. Right now he trusted nobody, least of all the man who had told Fiona he had been killed in an explosion in an effort to get her to roll over on him.

"I'm offering you a deal, a chance to get out from under Card. Sam and Fiona have already taken my offer." Bly slid two thin files onto the table and Michael flickered through them. Recognizing his friend's signatures, he looked up again.

"Where are they?" He had his anger under control now, his heart and mind icing over. _If Bly had hurt either of his friends..._

"They're safe."

Michael smiled grimly. Leaning forward until he spoke directly into the other's ear. "Believe me when I say, you do not want to do this. Let them go and _back off._"

Bly eased himself back in his chair. He had expected Westen to be difficult, but not so outright hostile. When he stared into the icy blue eyes glaring back at him, he could see he was facing the man who could have possibly done all the things written about him in the original burn notice dossier.

"Michael, I know what Card has done to you and your family, but whatever you are planning, it can only end one way. _You_ need this deal; _your_ friends need this deal. Help me bring Card down."

Michael pursed his lips tightly together, shaking his head in denial. He could not bring himself to trust again. Too many people had let him down in the past. He wanted no part of whatever game was being played this time_. He would finish Tom Card himself._

"Release Sam and Fiona," He ordered, getting to his feet. _H__e was done with this_. "You won't get another warning."

Bly put out a hand catching hold of the spy's wrist. "My investigation is going ahead, with or without your cooperation. There has been too much damage done to the intelligence community already to let this continue. You are in a unique position here, Michael, to do some real good. Both Sam and Fiona signed papers agreeing to be CSS witnesses; they are in _protective custody_. I have a team watching out for your mother and nephew, _protecting_ them in case Card makes an attempt on their lives. I also have your little friend Barry safely hidden away."

The CSS agent waited to see if the significance of Barry's capture registered with the spy. Surely he had to know that Bly now had the recording of Card admitting his guilt. "But without _your _testimony and cooperation, Tom Card will most likely walk away and _then_ what do you _think_ will happen to your friends?" He released his hold on Michael's wrist, half expecting to have the man storm out or hit him. _Axe was wrong when he said Westen was jittery. This man was teetering on the edge of a full blown meltdown. _It was then that Michael Westen surprised him, when he suddenly dropped back into the chair.

"Let Fi and Sam go. Drop all the charges and I'll help you."

Bly shook his head. "Not going to happen."

"Then forget it." He was back on his feet, turning to walk away.

"Okay, wait. You can see them, how about that? Be here tomorrow, I'll bring Sam. How does that sound?"

Michael barred his teeth in what might be classed as a smile.

"Both of them, or no deal."

He paused and looked at his watch. Card would be expecting him to make an appearance soon. But the pull to see them both was too much. "And I want to see them, both of them, _now_."

Agent Jason Bly sighed, this wasn't how this meeting was supposed to go. When he was in charge of a mission he was the one who dictated the terms, potential assets did as they were told. "Fine." He reluctantly agreed.

However Michael Westen wasn't an ordinary asset.


End file.
